


Power and Control

by Dlvvanzor, Living_In_a_Fantasy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Recreational Drug Use, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dlvvanzor/pseuds/Dlvvanzor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_In_a_Fantasy/pseuds/Living_In_a_Fantasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been a normal party; a normal pick up by a very attractive, if cagey, fellow-student. What wasn't so normal was meeting Sherlock Holmes in the process. As John is pursued for a relationship (of sorts) by Richard Small and Sherlock continues one with Richard's roommate Victor Trevor, John can't help but notice that Sherlock is significantly more interesting. Richard, however, is not so eager to let John go. Especially after all the work and manipulation he used to get him in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dick Small

Richard Small had been at the party for two hours and had yet to spot a single man who may be anything other than straight.  He was pretending to be tipsy, although he was still on his first cup of beer, but no one had propositioned him.  Well, two or three women, but that rather defeated the purpose.  He'd told them with a charming smile that he was too drunk for that, and went back to lurking.  It was, however, almost time to give it up for the night.  It was only Friday- there would be more parties tomorrow.

 John had already had several beers and was feeling rather good about the world. He'd come to the party, knowing a few people, though they'd all mostly drifted off on their own. He contemplated his empty cup and decided that yes, it might be time for another beer.

 As he was looking for his coat, Richard noticed a vaguely familiar face walking a bit unsteadily towards the tacky keg.  He knew this kid.  Jim or James or... John.  Yes, his name was John.  Smart, quiet in class, and shoved nice and deep in the closet.  Pretty cute, as well, a little short but he had nice eyes and hair and he was quite fit.  And drunk.  Or, drunk enough.  Richard stood.

John had to wait in the rather ridiculous line to actually get to the beer, but eventually he did, turning and taking a few steps away so he'd not be in the way of the alcohol. He liked parties. It was easy to talk to people, including strangers, though he didn't make it a habit of going to parties every week. Though he always did have a good time when he did.

As Richard sidled over to 'John,' he strategized.  What would work on a man like this?  What would he need to be?  Would he respond best to confidence, or shyness, or something 'genuine?'  Or would he just have to walk up and proposition him?  Maybe John let loose on his quest for Narnia when he'd had a few.  He eyed him as he approached.  He took a sip of his beer.  John was looking at his cup, smiling happily around at the party, enjoying it.  Ah.

 John drank from the cup, glancing around and spotting someone he vaguely recognized. Someone he knew he'd seen in classes but had never really talked to. Richard, he eventually remembered. One of the guys in class that, when they chose to speak, did so with the air of knowing they were correct. He was coming closer, though John was unsure if it was because he was looking at him, or because of the keg.

Recognition.  Richard closed the rest of the distance between them, his most charming smile on his face, eyes locked on John and on no one else.  Flirty and confident and complimentary and nonthreatening, that was the way to go for this John person.  Leaning close to John's ear under the pretense of being heard over the music, he said, "Hey, John.  Good to see you."

He hadn't realized that Richard even knew who he was, though he wasn't displeased by it. He knew Richard was a senior, one of those guys that always seemed to have people flocking around him between classes. How someone came to know _everyone_ on a campus was mystifying to him. "Good to see you, too.  Been here long?"

 Richard made a face.  "Too long.  Was just on my way out—thought there was no one interesting here.  But then I saw you."  He grinned and took a fake sip from his cup.

Well that was flattering. John smiled. "I lost the couple people I know somewhere in the mass a while ago," he said, taking a real sip from his cup.

"Well, take my word for it that there's no one here worth replacing your mates with."  He let his eyes go slowly, obviously, and appreciatively from John's shoes to his eyes.  He smiled again.  "You go to Cambridge, obviously.  What college are you in?"

 John Watson was certainly not a stranger to the art of flirtation, and while it caught him off guard that Richard was flirting with him the advances were not unwelcome. He was tall, dark haired, and overall charming. But, John had never flirted with a man before. He could admit, a bit reluctantly, that he had admired a few from afar, but he'd never _flirted_ with them. "Christ's College," he answered automatically, taking a moment to look Richard over in return, though trying to be a bit more discrete about it.

 Richard noticed and made it clear that he noticed.  He cocked his head, making the smile a bit slyer.  "You must be... bright."

 "Should hope so. Would be good of them to not let complete idiots in here." He was certain he was not reading the signs wrong. He shifted his weight, tilting just the slightest bit closer to Richard.

Richard didn't find it funny, but he laughed anyway.

 John's smile widened just a bit. "So what about you? Came here alone?"

 He considered his answer.  Came here with a girl and got dumped?  Came here with a guy and got dumped?  Came here with friends and got ditched, like John?  "Like you," he said.  "Had some mates but they left."  He raised his eyebrows in mock-worry.  "If some stranger roofied my drink, they could drag me off and there would be no one to protect me."

 "Suppose it's a good thing we found each other then," John said, taking another sip.

"Suppose so."  He smiled crookedly.

 Someone turned the music up and several people cheered in appreciation. John glanced towards the source of the noise and looked back to Richard. "We're hitting the very drunken stage of the party, now."

 "We do appear to be," he agreed.  Now, how to get John home with him?  Bluntly asking, insinuation... "Might be a good time to leave.  You know, before the roofies and the dragging off happen."

 John nodded. "Do want to avoid that."

He drained his cup and tossed it in the bin.  "Might be safer if you come with me."

"Those campus safety emails _do_ say not to walk alone at night," John agreed easily.

  _God_ did Richard like them easy.  "Good.  Then come back to mine.  We can," he searched for the word, "protect each other."

John was not a fool, even when drinking. He knew what Richard was insinuating. If he'd been sober, he might have hesitated. He might have reminded himself that he really had never talked to Richard before that night. And he might have reminded himself that he wasn't _exactly_ clear on what he wanted, whether it be men, women, or both. However, he wasn't sober, and in his current state he figured going with Richard would go a long way towards cementing if he was into men or not. He finished his beer and tossed the cup aside. "Sounds good."

 Richard took John's hand and led him away from the party, where it was quieter.  It was safe, because everyone here was too drunk to remember and report.  He tugged John in closer and kissed him.  Good to know in advance what to expect.  "I won't tell if you won't," he whispered teasingly against John's lips.

 Alright. John certainly liked _kissing_ men. "Who would I tell?"

As they kissed, Richard sized him up. Decent kisser, obviously experienced but not with men.  Possibly even new.  Richard hoped he'd be willing to bottom.  Not much point in picking him up, otherwise.  Instead of answering, Richard just shot him a mischievous smile and tugged him in the direction of his dorm.

 John followed willingly.

The party was close, so it wasn't a long walk.  Or, rather, a stumble punctuated with sloppy kisses.  Richard kept them to the less-beaten path so no one would see him bringing a man home.  Couldn't have people thinking he was gay.  Distracted by John's throat, into which he had shoved his tongue, Richard did not immediately notice that his room was occupied.

"Kindly get the fuck out," was the first thing Victor said to Richard, not even opening his eyes from where he was reclined on what was presumably his bed.  There was a man between his legs.

John, suitably distracted by this, pulled back, eyes automatically taking in the scene. Obviously, seeing a man with his cock hanging out begged attention, but it was the man on his knees that really made John pause. He was slender, with dark hair and eyes that seemed to pierce right through him.

 Victor jerked his hips pointedly and Sherlock rolled his eyes and went back to his task, undisturbed by the company.

Richard, however, immediately started arguing with his roommate.  He also appeared unbothered by the fact that there was a dick being sucked on. 

"You were supposed to go to his," he complained, gesturing at Sherlock.  "Do you _always_ have to bring him here?"

"Sebastian doesn't like it," Victor answered, not interested in the argument.

"Since when do you care what Sebastian likes?" Richard snapped.

"Since he threatened to up his prices," Victor replied condescendingly.  "No one wants that."

"Fucking junkie bringing random men back to-"

"You're telling _me_ about random men?"

Sherlock ignored all of this and simply kept up his slow bob.

 John's attention was more focused on the man on the floor, who was sucking someone off and looking utterly bored by it. And the man who was _being_ sucked off didn't even seem invested enough to stop arguing. "We can go to mine," John interrupted. "I can text my roommate. He'd be fine with leaving."

Richard glanced at him.  He couldn't control that environment like he could control this one.

"I won't tell him who I'm bringing back," John offered.  "I can say a woman from the party."

 Sherlock pulled off with a popping noise to say in a singsong voice, "Oh, but think of all the people who will see you and Dick Small on the _way_ , John!"

"It's Richard," Richard snapped.

 "Have we met?" John didn't recognize the man on the floor, but he had met a lot of people over the past three years.

"If we'd met, you'd remember me," Sherlock said simply.  "We passed each other once two years ago, you were talking to someone and they used your name."  He wet his lips and dived back onto Victor.

 Richard rolled his eyes.  "Freak," he muttered.

"Hey," Victor said firmly.

"And you remember?" John asked, even though Sherlock had clearly gone back to the task at hand.

Sherlock hummed an affirmative and Victor groaned.

 "He remembers things," Richard explained.  He rubbed his face.  "Look, John, not tonight, okay?"

 "I don't care if you do it here," Victor said, sounding a bit breathless now.  "We'll be gone soon anyway."

 "Well, why have me when you can lie back and watch your own, personal porn?" John joked, shooting the pair a glance before looking back up at Richard. "Sure, it's fine. Another time."

 Sherlock snorted a laugh.  Victor flicked his forehead.  Richard glared at them both then patted John's shoulder.  "Sorry, man.  Was looking forward to it."

 "Not like I don't see you every week. You know where to find me." He looked back towards the pair. "Enjoy," he said cheerily, and left.

Sherlock had to pull off to laugh, as John closed the door behind himself.


	2. Chapter 2

 Based on the look Richard had shot him before class nearly a week later, "another time" was coming soon. John was distracted the entire lecture. Last time he'd agreed, he'd not really been thinking straight.  (Or, rather, hadn't been thinking even remotely _straight_.)  But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested.

 It was Friday again.  Richard was going to give it another shot.  This time, apologetic was going to be the way to be, but not cripplingly apologetic.  Apologize, let John accept the apology, and then accept his acceptance of the apology.  Being pathetic and mewling wouldn't work.  When the class they had together ended, Richard plopped himself down in the recently-vacated seat next to John, letting his arms and legs go artfully folded and scattered.  Powerful and sure.  He put on his best sincere face.  "Hey man.  I'm sorry about last weekend.  That was probably a bit more awkwardness than you signed up for."

 John shrugged. "Would have thought they'd stop when two people came in, but it's fine. No harm done."

Laid-back.  Not dramatic.  Not demanding.  If this guy was any good, Richard might keep him for more than a night.  "You're a good sort.  Thanks."  He smiled.  Then, leaning closer, he asked, "Free tonight?  Sebastian, that's Sherlock's roommate, is home for the weekend.  So they'll be at his instead."

 This was it. Decision time. He couldn't blame it on the drinking if he said yes now.  After a short pause, he said, "I've got nothing on. Sure."

Knowing there was no one nearby, now, Richard brushed a few fingers over John's arm.  "Great."  He stood.  "Whatever time works for you.  Maybe seven."  He gave John a long, hungry look.  "Or maybe now."

 This was really happening. He felt both thrilled and terrified at once. "Free at seven. Free now. Either time works," he said, hoping he at least managed to sound casual even if he didn't exactly feel it.

 "Now," Richard said instantly.  It was always better if the other person thought you wanted them as much as they wanted you.

 John finished packing away his things and stood. "Lead the way, then."

As they walked, Richard put on what he could only describe as a slightly bashful face.  "I should have asked earlier," he said apologetically.  "But..."

 "Yes?" he asked when Richard paused.

 "How were you seeing this, you know.  Going?"

 "Meaning what, exactly?"

 "Well.  Were you thinking about fucking me, or letting me have you?"

John blinked, slowly. "Well I've never... with a man, I mean. So I don't really know."

 Richard pretended to be surprised.  "Oh.  Well then."  They'd made it to the room he shared with Victor, and the instant the door was closed behind him, Richard turned and pressed John into the wall.  He got in close and said into his ear, "How about you let me show you a good time, then?"

It was a bit overwhelming, but exciting, and for some reason, felt a touch dangerous. John eventually managed to nod. "Yes. Let's do that."

 Richard smiled like a cat, and pounced.

* * *

 

The sex had been good, and had easily confirmed that, yes, John was interested in men. He didn't have any illusions that he and Richard were anything, of course: it was a hookup. It could be more than one hookup, but based on what he'd seen Richard didn't seem much like a relationship guy, especially since he didn't want John to mention it to anyone. He wasn't bothered by it. Currently, he was strolling across campus to get a coffee, wondering if it would happen again.

Sherlock had always preferred to think of it as 'investigating,' rather than 'stalking.'

 John didn't notice Sherlock, regardless of if he was investigating or stalking. He bought his coffee, contemplating if he should take a seat and relax, or go back to his dorm and do homework.

 Sherlock chose that moment to block John's path, so abruptly that John bumped into him.  No coffee was spilled, but then Sherlock had known it wouldn't be.  He looked down at John.  "Hello."

 John looked up at him. "Hello."

 "Richard is an idiot," Sherlock reported, nodding.

 "O...kay?"

 "And not your kind of idiot," he added.  "A real, proper idiot.  And an arse.  I've known him for three years and I am still unsure which version of him is real."

 "He seemed okay," John said slowly.

 "Yes, I'm sure he did."  Sherlock stepped out of John's way.  "And I'm sure he's a great shag.  I have heard the stories, after all.  Let him fuck you if you'd like.  But I sincerely hope you are going to keep feelings-" here he crunched up his face, clarifying how he felt about the construct, "-out of it."

 "It's not as if we're dating or something." Not that it was really his business, but...

 "No," he agreed.  "Do what you like, but I felt it was my duty, as you are slightly less boring that the rest of this school, to warn you that you tread dangerously."

 "It was just a shag. Not really a big deal." John shrugged again. "You've taken quite an interest considering I don't even know your name."

 "Sherlock Holmes.  And while you may not have known my name, you _have_ seen me with another man's genitals in my mouth, so I would say that we are past the 'take an interest' stage.  That being said, this is as far as my interest extends at this time.  Good luck fucking Richard."  He nodded, and left.

 John stared after him. It seemed strange, that this man he'd barely met had taken enough interest to, in a sense, warn him. He wasn't sure what there was to be warned about. They'd shagged, and that was it. He wasn't sure how it could get complicated. But Sherlock was... interesting. He sipped at his coffee absently and headed back towards the dorms.

* * *

 

 Several days later and it was Tuesday, one of John's longer days in terms of classes. At least he'd finally finished. As he walked across campus, intending to stop at his dorm, he spotted Sherlock sitting alone on a bench. He paused, considering him. Sherlock was interesting. A lot more interesting than most of the people he'd met. He want over and stood in front of him. "Hello."

 Sherlock peered up at him.  Why was John talking to him?  "Hello."

 "For class or pleasure?" he asked, gesturing at the book Sherlock was holding.

 "A Technical Manual on Allotropes," Sherlock said, holding it up.  "Guess."

 John considered him. "Pleasure, then?"

 Sherlock smirked.  He closed the book.

"Mind if I sit?"

 Hm, no one who wasn't mind-numbing had asked him that before.  "Do you want a lecture on Allotropes?" he shot back.

 "I just got out of classes for the day, thanks."

 Sherlock's eyes flickered over him.  "Biology, aiming for medical school?"

 John nodded. "Hear that in the hallway too?"

 "Your bag told me that," Sherlock said smugly.

 "Really?" he asked. "How so?"

 "It's bulging.  Only biology students have that many textbooks, and only pre-medical students bother to actually read them and carry them around.  I suppose you could be an English student, but that's not quite right, is it, because then you'd only have a few of your books, no need to carry around ten novels at a time."

 "That's... impressive."

 Sherlock blinked at him.  "You think so?"

 John nodded. "Of course. What else would you call it?"

 "I would call it impressive.  Nearly everyone else would call it witchcraft."

 John rolled his eyes. "People are idiots."

 Sherlock cracked a smile.  "Want to see some more?"

 "Sure. Wow me," John said, sitting down.

Sherlock scanned the sparse crowd.  "That girl.  Do you know her?"  He gestured with his head.

 John glanced at her. "I've seen her. She's in my lit class."

 "She's shagging the professor," Sherlock said.

 "And you can tell, how?"

 "No classes just ended, but she's leaving the building that contains the office of the professor who is rumored to trade sex for grades.  If she had just been in a class that released early, she wouldn't be the only one leaving.  And look how she's walking.  Look at her hair.  That is the picture of a woman who had just had her legs open."

John blinked. "And you put this all together."

"Yes."

 "That's pretty amazing."

 Sherlock smiled, and this time it was genuine.  "Want me to do it to you?"

 "Suppose I could tell if you were right or not," he said after a short pause. "So, sure."

 "You're from Sussex," he supplied immediately, "Judging from your accent.  And, as I said, biology for pre-med.  You're considering joining the army; you try holding yourself straight but you don't have the training so it's not quite perfect, which you know but you reckon it's better than going in unprepared.  You're tired, don't sleep enough but what college student does?  You could also stand to eat at the cafeteria more often than you do, rather than the vending machines.  You must live in Montague Hall, that's the only dormitory that is closer to vending machines than to the cafeteria.  You're gay... no, bisexual, and Dick Small-- I mean Richard of course-- is your first man, but not your first woman."  He stopped, blinked, nodded.  "How did I do?"

 John didn't say anything for several minutes, stunned. "That's... that's spot on, really," he said finally.

 Sherlock smiled, wide, pleased with himself.  He straightened his book on the bench next to him.

 "Bit unbelievable, really. Did you teach yourself how to do that?"

 He shifted.  "Half."

 "Other half?"

 "I'm naturally observant, it runs in the family.  My brother taught me how to put it together."

 John nodded.

 Sherlock watched him for a moment, then nodded back.  Sherlock's phone vibrated, and he checked it automatically.  When he saw the name, he jumped to his feet.  "Um.  Sorry."  He left without another word.

 John watched him go. Interesting. This Sherlock guy was very interesting.

* * *

 

 After their lecture together, Richard again sat himself down next to John.

 "Hello," he said as he packed away his things.

 "Hey," Richard replied with an easy smile.  He cocked his head to make his hair move and expose his neck.  John had seemed to like his neck quite a lot, last weekend.  "Busy tonight?"

 John noticed this, glancing from it back to Richard's eyes. "No. Why?"

 "Well, I'd like a repeat, if you're amiable.  You seemed to enjoy yourself last time."

 "That could be good, yes," John said, pushing what Sherlock had said to the back of his mind. Richard was nice enough, and it was just a shag. Nothing complicated.

 "Great."  He grinned.  "Oh, also, Victor and Sherlock and I are hanging out later.  I swear no one's cock will be waving around, this time.  So if you want to come over for some social interaction, O Medical Student, you're safe to do it without... what was it?  Without a personal porno."

 John's lips quirked up. An excuse to hang around Sherlock again. "Yeah, sure."

Richard smirked, but kept it internal.  John was now smiling automatically around him.  Yes, he had him by the throat now.  Speaking of having someone...  "And then," he added more quietly, suggestively, "We can try something new."

 "Oh?"

"Oh," he confirmed.  He said nothing else, and stood.  He shot John another grin, then strutted away.


	3. Chapter 3

A few hours later, John was once again outside of Richard's dorm, with the possibility of no one having sex on the other side. He knocked.

 Richard answered, giving a charming smile to John.  "Hey, Handsome.  Come on in."

Sherlock, who was draped over a dirty, stained, and very-collegy futon, rolled his eyes.  Victor, on whose lap Sherlock had propped his legs, nodded a greeting.

"Hey," John said to the collective group, stepping in. He shot Sherlock a quick smile as Richard closed the door, glancing at Victor, to whom he'd not yet spoken outside of that first meeting.

Richard gestured towards the bed, eyeing John. He certainly seemed more relaxed than the last time he had been there. That was good. Earning trust went a long way in maintaining a casual bed partner.  "Have a seat."

"Richard was just going on about all the men he's had sex with," Sherlock said lazily, dropping his head back.  "It's quite the list."

 Victor shook his head.

 Richard shot a glare at Sherlock. The Freak enjoyed trying to ruin his conquests, and it was really starting to piss him off.

 Sherlock stuck out his tongue.

 John vaguely wondered why the group of them hung out, considering that Richard and Sherlock did not seem to get along. He sat down on the bed, looking between them.

 "An excellent question, John," Sherlock said, stretching and flopping back down.  He stuck his feet in Victor's face; Victor shoved them.  "And if I ever figure out the answer, I will let you know."

 Richard looked between the two, very deliberately keeping himself from frowning. "Doing your mind reading thing again, are you?" he asked, crossing the room and towards the bed. He calculated the distance he should sit from John. Not too close, because that could indicate interest in a more regular, traditional companionship. Not too far, to seem uninterested in sex later. He sat close, but not touching.

Sherlock was done with this conversation, and showed it by gazing off at the ceiling.

"If you're so psychic, then how about a game?" Richard suggested when it was quiet for nearly a full minute. A drinking game. Sex was a lot easier when one of the parties was at least tipsy. Least resistance that way, and people revealed things they might not normally reveal. Good for leverage.

"If anyone starts bending spoons, I'm leaving," Victor said drily, already knowing where this was going.  He shoved Sherlock's feet away again.  "Cut it out," he said to the owner of the feet.  Sherlock rolled off the futon and huffed indignantly when he landed on the floor.  Back to Richard, Victor said, "And frankly if you even bring out a spoon..."

"A drinking game," Richard interrupted. "We have a few cans of beer sitting lonely in the fridge. Might as well put some use to them." He bought cans specifically for this sort of reason. Easier to take small sips without anyone noticing. Couldn't get information while drunk, and also could easily let information slip. Was always better to get the rest of your party intoxicated before you yourself did, if you did at all.

 Sherlock glanced at John.

 John shrugged. "Sounds fine to me."

Richard looked expectantly at the other two.

Victor stood up.  "You had me at 'drinking.'"  He retrieved three beers, handing one to Sherlock.  Sherlock rolled his eyes but opened it.

Richard's lips quirked up.  "Who starts?"

 "You," Sherlock said immediately.

 Richard shrugged, considering. Better to start small, or jump right into it? Considering that they'd already walked in on Victor and Sherlock, it seemed fine to start with something a bit more interesting. "Never have I ever fooled around in my sibling's bed."

Sherlock smirked and took a drink.

 Victor rolled his eyes.

 John didn't take a drink either. He really didn't want to have sex where Harry had been having sex.

 "Alright, me," Victor said.  "Never have I ever... goddammit why is this so hard, fuck me.  Um."  He took a sip of his non-game beer.  "Gone skydiving."

 John had barely been able to afford school, let alone a luxury like that. Richard didn't drink either.

 "What college student has gone skydiving?" Sherlock said condescendingly.  "If we're going to waste precious hours of our lives with nonsense, at least come up with good questions.  Never have I ever seen a female naked in real life.  _Other_ than your mother, Dick, she doesn't count."

 Richard rolled his eyes. "Very mature." He took a small sip, glancing at John as he drank. Good. He'd have to tailor his questions more towards things he thought John might have done, to get more alcohol into him.

 Victor took a swig of his non-game beer.  There was a reason he had a non-game beer.

 "Alright," John said, thinking. "Never have I ever... taken naked pictures of myself."

Sherlock snorted a laugh but didn't drink. Victor did.  Richard obligingly took a small sip, considering his next question. Something John would have done. Not a lot of money, and had scholarships. "Never have I ever had a part time job." Internships didn't count, so it wasn't even a lie. He watched as John took another drink.

 Sherlock didn't, Victor did with a pleased exclamation that he got to participate.  Sherlock looked at John, evaluating.  He looked away when John made eye contact.

Victor had prepared this time.  "I've never done heroin," he said proudly.

 As subtly as possible, Sherlock drank.

Richard snorted. "About the only one you haven't done. Maybe Sherlock has you beat on variety?" John, who hadn't taken a drink, glanced towards Sherlock.

 "That's likely," Sherlock said calmly.

 John forced back a frown. He knew that people did drugs, and that it wasn't his life, but after dealing with the family drinking problems he didn't like people who depended on that kind of thing.

 "Though in my defense," Sherlock continued, "I've never pretended to be in an altered state when I wasn't."  He looked directly at Richard.

 Richard met his eyes calmly. "It's your turn."

 "I believe I just went," he said, equally calmly.

 Richard shot a quick glance at John. Of course, it would be like Sherlock to try and scare off his "dates." Nevertheless, it would look worse to not drink and have Sherlock call him on it. He took another small sip, nearly frowning when once again, John didn't take one.

 Satisfied, Sherlock leaned back.

John only took a moment to think of his next one. "Never have I ever said the wrong name during sex."

Richard didn't drink. He never said a name during sex, so that wasn't a problem.

No one did.  "Look, we're classy," Victor said drily.  He'd finished his first non-game beer, crumpled it, and went for another one.

Richard studied John, taking a moment to think. What might John have done? Not a lot of money.  Here on scholarship. Probably... "Never have I ever had a perfect grade point average." That was a lie, but it had been before he knew any of them, so they had no way of knowing. He eyed John as he took a drink. He at least wanted to get him through two cans.

Sherlock and Victor both drank, and then Sherlock said, "Liar."

 "Not quite perfect, not the same," he said carelessly.

 "No," Sherlock agreed.  "But you did until high school."

 "Pretty sure I'd remember that," he said loftily. "Victor?"

"One would think so," Sherlock said airily.  "But you don't have to get John drunk to get his trousers off."

Richard met his eyes steadily. Sherlock was too clever for his own good, and had too big a mouth. "I'm not trying to get John drunk, I'm simply playing a game.  Besides," he added, "the point of a drinking game is to drink."

 "Then why aren't you drinking?"  Sherlock took a sip in defiance of the game.

 "I've been drinking when someone has stated something I've done. Maybe you need better questions," he said stiffly.

Sherlock pointedly left it there.  Victor looked at John.  "They're always like this.  All the fucking time.  I honestly have no idea why I let this happen."

 "The excuse to drink, I think," John offered.

 "Too true," Victor said sadly.  "I," he announced, "have never had a roommate and a... Sherlock... who actually bloody get along."

"Not a question that can apply to anyone but you," Sherlock pointed out.

 "Clearly the not-game beer is starting to take hold," John commented, voice mock-serious.

Sherlock's lips twitched.  "Or the two he had earlier."

"Alright, fine."  Victor thought.

"Don't hurt yourself," Sherlock sighed.

Inwardly, Richard sighed. It was irritating interacting with the masses for such a long period of time.

Victor kept thinking.

"Oh my God," Sherlock exploded.  "You are utterly useless when you've had more than two.  Victor Trevor has never left the country!"  He took an annoyed drink.

The game seemed to quickly be deteriorating. "Assuming you're a mouthpiece for him now," John said, taking a drink. Richard did too. "Never have I ever been outside of Europe."

"Skipped me," Sherlock said, not sounding particularly put out about it.  "Looks like it's Richard now."  He stared at him.  It may have been a challenge, it may not have been.

Richard had a dilemma. Go after Sherlock, or John. But, if he blatantly targeted John again, Sherlock would call him on it. "Never have I ever done cocaine."

 Sherlock and Victor sipped away.  "Really, though, I believe this was implied earlier," Sherlock pointed out, unruffled.

 Richard ignored him. "Think you can manage your own response this time?" he asked Victor.

 John looked between Richard and Sherlock, wondering just how many drugs Sherlock _had_ tried. And how many he regularly used.

"I've never flunked a physics class," Victor said.

None of them had.

"I've never been propositioned by my mother," Sherlock said.

Victor shifted and drank more non-game beer.

Richard felt his face burn. "She didn't realize it was me," he defended, taking a quick sip. "I've never been sent away to school because my family wanted me to learn how to fit into society."

 "Still haven't managed it," Sherlock said cheerfully, taking a swig.  "I've never had my sibling break up with someone for me."

Richard took a drink, not breaking eye contact with Sherlock. "I've never been beat up for being an arrogant arse to everyone I meet."

Sherlock drank.  "Hm, then you're due.  I'd be happy to volunteer to hit you first.  I've never had a parent diagnosed with bipolar disorder."

John glanced between them, and then towards Victor.  It was getting fairly serious, and he wondered again why these two spent any time together.  Victor shrugged back at him.  "They seem to like it," he said.

 Richard drank, slamming the empty can onto the ground. He knew he was losing his control, knew he was getting too angry, but it was difficult to remember that when Sherlock was giving him that look. "I've never slept with someone for drugs."

Sherlock didn't bother drinking.  "I've never slept with someone whose name I didn't know."

 "I've never deduced people just to show off and try to and make someone like me."

"I've never hidden who I am," Sherlock said.  "In any way, shape, or form.  Including who I like to sleep with."

"I've never been hated by at least half the population of my university," Richard snapped.

"Half?" Sherlock's eyebrows went up.  "Generous.  I've never 'double dipped' _on accident_."

"I've never had a father who committed suicide."

"Simply to get away from me," Sherlock added, completely unruffled.  "I've never been walked out on by my father... excepting into a lake, of course."

"Hey guys," John said hesitantly, "think that's enough."

Richard ignored him. "I've never been sent to a psychiatrist because my family didn't know what to do with me."

Sherlock took a slow drink.  Then, icy calm, he played his trump card.  "I've never raped anyone."

"That's bullshit," Richard snapped, making sure not to look at John as he said it. "I have _never_ forced anyone.  Now you're just reaching."

 "You are obviously confused about the legal definition of rape, then.  If they're too drunk to give consent?"

"We'd both been drinking," he said stonily. "And it's not as if he ever had any complaints."

Sherlock added nothing.

An awkward silence descended. John looked back at Victor, the only other person in the room not glaring. That was some heavy stuff.

"Always like this, too," Victor said to John, words slurred just a bit.  "Helps if you're a bit drunk."

"Maybe we should call it a night," John suggested slowly.

"Excellent idea, John," Sherlock said cheerfully.  He stood, stooped down to give Victor a pointed, rather obscene kiss, and marched out.

 John stood too. "I'll see you in class. Bit... mad, tonight." Knowing he wasn't going to get anything from John tonight, Richard nodded, bidding him farewell and closing the door behind him. He frowned. After that, it might be hard to get John back. That was a shame. He'd been a good shag. He considered this for a moment.  Maybe, if he played his cards right, and approached John when he'd already been drinking, he'd have more luck. And maybe if he had some insurance. That would help greatly.

* * *

 

Sherlock hadn't gotten far when John came up next to him.

"So," John said slowly, "really don't get along then."

 "Mmm, no, not really."  Sherlock pretended to thoughtfully scratch his chin.  "A bit obvious, was it?"

 "Just a bit."

 He smiled, rolled his eyes, shook his head.  "I've no idea why they tolerate me.  Well, Victor.  But why allow Dick Small and me into the same room?"

 "Well, you're dating his roommate. You're bound to run into him."

 "No I'm not," Sherlock said, a bit startled.

 John blinked at him. "You're not?"

 "I'm not dating Victor."

"Oh." A pause. "I just thought. With the kissing and the way you sit together."

"A reasonable deduction," Sherlock agreed, "but incorrect.  It's something, but it's definitely not dating.  We don't go on dates, say nice things to each other, exchange gifts.  I... care for him, I suppose.  We were friends once."  He shrugged.

"But not now?"

"Possibly?" Sherlock attempted.  "I'm not sure.  Friendship is not really my area.  I'm fairly certain that friends don't have sex and do drugs together."

John frowned. "Could stop the drugs," he said casually. "Then it would just be friends with benefits."

Sherlock shook his head.  "Good in theory, but that would require him to stop.  I have a more varied experience, as Dick so kindly brought up, but Victor is more... faithful, shall we say.  You saw how he drinks."

"You could stop," he suggested.

"I get bored, the observations get loud.  I'll stop when I find something else that works.  So far, my major helps.  So I believe something in chemistry will really work."  He smirked.  "Other than actually ingesting the chemicals."

John moved closer, realizing that Richard and Victor could be listening to the conversation through the door. "Must know they're not good for you."

 Sherlock gave him a look to emphasize that he believed John mad.

"Fine." He had no business prying, and didn't know why he even cared that much. He barely knew Sherlock. "Your life."

Sherlock watched him mildly.  "Hm.  Refreshing."

"What is?"

"You dropped it," he said simply.

"Barely know you," he said, shrugging. "Not my place."

"But I knew you even less when I suggested you not develop feelings for Richard.  Hopefully you now see why."

"Was all that true then?" He started walking.

Sherlock walked with him, automatically.  "Yes."

"Deduced it?"

"Much of it, some of it came up in other ways."

John hummed.

"So, part time job," Sherlock said just to say something.

"Mhm."

"...That's all I've got for polite conversation," Sherlock said mournfully.

"You could use some practice," he suggested.

"Very true."

"Can you deduce what kind of job?"

 Sherlock hesitated, looked him over.  He paused.  "Um.  Pret?"

John chuckled. "Close, actually. Eat."

Sherlock frowned to himself.

 "What?"

"Nothing."

 Silence. John glanced at him. "So you've never worked then."

 "Not in a part-time job capacity.  But," he glanced around a bit.  "I helped the police solve a murder, once."

 "Really?" he asked, interested.

 He nodded, pleased that John was interested.

 "Bit more exciting than Eat."

 "I could tell you more about it," Sherlock said, trying to sound casual.

 "You could."

 "You could come back to mine." He shrugged.

 "Yeah," he said. "Sounds good."

 He looked at him quickly.  "Really?"

 "Yeah. Why not?"

 "After every completely true thing that was said tonight."

 "Well, I think it's clear enough that I don't like the drugs," he said slowly. "But some of the stuff he said was out of line. Things that don't bother me."

 "I said worse things."

 "Would you rather I not come?"

 "No, but as I am not your dear Richard I am straightforward enough to inform you of the sort of person I am."

 John rolled his eyes. "I'm not dating him. We shagged. Might do it again sometime. It doesn't mean anything. I certainly don't have feelings for him."

 "I don't like him," Sherlock said.

 "I got that."

 "I enjoy saying it."

 "So I've noticed."

Sherlock looked at him for a long few moments, as they walked.  "Right," he said finally.  He gestured with his head.  "Baker Hall.  Coming?"

 John nodded. "Yeah, I'm coming."


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock had almost, almost asked John to stay over that night.  Not for any particular purpose just... to have him there.  Then he had realized what he was thinking and not stopped John when he'd made to leave.  But then John had suggested Sherlock come to his room the next day, and Sherlock had said yes without thinking.  And now he was standing in front of John's dorm door.  He should knock.  It had, however, been five minutes and he'd yet to do so. 

The conversation the night before had been... good.  John had been suitably impressed with him, even complimenting him and praising him.  Sherlock wasn't used to it.  And he liked it.  And that... that was a problem.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, Sherlock had a great amount of trouble denying himself things he wanted.  So he stood at the door and stared at it.

 John, oblivious, was in his dorm, kind of reading a chapter for class in a couple days. He'd had fun with Sherlock. They'd just sat and talked but it had been nice. Sherlock was interesting, and funny, and he got the impression that it was hard to get Sherlock to _like_ someone. He'd actually been a bit surprised when Sherlock had accepted his invitation. He just wanted to get to know him. It was strange, like right after meeting him he'd just wanted to know...more. And still wanted to know more. He glanced at his watch. It was a little after seven, so Sherlock should get there soon.

 Out in the hall, Sherlock was still having problems and it was frustrating even to him. This wasn't difficult.  See door.  Make a fist.  Raise fist.  Tap fist on door.  Lower fist.  Yet he couldn't seem to manage it.  Briefly, absurdly, he wondered how his hair looked.

Sherlock shook himself and knocked.  Then nearly ran away.  Then forced himself not to.

 John immediately stood and went to the door. He'd told Mike that he was having someone over and had purposefully been vague. This way they should be able to hang out interrupted. He'd decided not to analyze why he wanted that as he opened the door. "Hey," he said, smiling.

 John was smiling at him.  He was... really just very... Sherlock gazed at him.

John stood aside. "You can come in."

Sherlock blinked, then remembered that he was intelligent and did so.  "Hello," he added belatedly.  He glanced around John's room.  As expected.  He sat in a chair.

 John closed the door behind him, sitting on the bed and facing Sherlock. "How are you?" It felt a bit too standard to use with Sherlock, but he wasn't sure how else to start a conversation.

 "Adequate.  And yourself?"  Even though he knew the answer.

 "Better now that you're here," he said cheerily. "Been reading from my biology book for two hours now."

 "Yes."  He really needed to improve socially.  Just like John said.  He should be able to do this when he wanted to.

 John nodded. "Right. So..." How to continue a conversation when he was the only one talking... "I assume no hangover, since neither of us drank that much?" Obvious. Too obvious, but he didn't have much to work with, did he?

 "That, and I don't get hangovers."

 "Aren't you lucky."

 Sherlock smirked. "I have heard they are unpleasant."

 "Really are. Luckily I usually avoid them."

"By not drinking, I presume."

"For the most part," John confirmed. "I'll drink on occasion. Usually try to keep it below the drunk line, though."

 "You were drunk at that party."

 "The one where I talked to Richard?" He shook his head. "Not drunk. Not to a point of not knowing what was going on. I know my limits, usually."

 "And yet you still attempted to go home with him."  Sherlock made a face.  "Honestly I can't understand it."

 "He's attractive and the first man to ever approach me." John shrugged.

 "So you literally slept with the first man who asked."

 "Attractive," John added.

 Sherlock grumbled something.

 "Hm?"

 "I said his arse is too hairy," Sherlock said more loudly.

 "Seen it, then?" John asked, amused.

 "To my great dismay, yes."

 John chuckled. "Well, you're not sleeping with him, so you probably won't ever have to again."

 "You would think so," Sherlock said worriedly.  "But you never know, with this group."

 "True," John agreed easily.

 "Arses everywhere..."  He giggled. "And," he asked when he could get a breath, "how is he so hairy there and nowhere else?  It doesn't make _sense_."  Giggling, why was he giggling?  He didn't giggle.

 "Maybe my biology book will cover it," John said, shutting the still open textbook and shoving it off the bed and out of his way.

 Sherlock giggled louder.  "You noticed it too, right?  Hairy arse, _hair nowhere else_.  I don't... I don't _understand_..."  It had been years since he'd been so tickled.

 "Was a bit distracted at the time but now that you mention it," he agreed. He liked when Sherlock laughed.

 Sherlock slapped his hands over his eyes, unable to stop the giggling.  "No, stop, now I'm picturing it.  Delete, _delete_!"

 "I'm not sure anything will get rid of the image now."

 "Nooo..."  He flopped dramatically over the arm of the chair he was on.  "End me."

 John laughed. "I think you'll survive."

 "I won't," he said, voice muffled because he hadn't picked his head up.  "Richard's disturbingly hairy arse is now the wallpaper in my mind."

 "Might make it a bit hard to finish school, then."

 "I'll have to drop out," he said seriously.

 "All those years and money wasted."

 He sighed dramatically.

 "Better you than me," he said cheerfully.

 Sherlock flopped back up to seated and rolled his head to look at John and grin.

 John smiled back. Sherlock had a nice smile, when it was genuine. Not a smirk or a chuckle, but a smile and real laughter. It was just...nice.

 John made him laugh.  He couldn't think of anyone else who made him laugh.

 "So you've not worked. Here on loans? Scholarship? Would be better if that wasted money didn't have to be paid back, after all."

 "Family's rich," he said simply.  Would John hate him for that?  No, John was better than that.

 "Convenient."

 "It is, rather.  And you're here on scholarship.  Free ride, in fact."

 "Still can't believe I got it," he admitted.

 "Why?  You're the ideal candidate."  Sherlock nodded.

 "How do you figure?"

 "Tragic backstory, smart, hardworking, going to be a doctor.  I would give you a free ride."  Sherlock realized what he'd said and amended.  "I mean.  You know."

 There was a short pause. "Deduced the tragic backstory, did you?"

 "Hm?  Oh.  Yes, not hard."  Sherlock liked how John said 'deduced.'  He didn't say it like it was ironic.

 "So you have me at a disadvantage," John said when Sherlock was silent. "You can figure out my life, and I can't figure out yours. You have siblings?"

 "You already know I have a brother," Sherlock pointed out.  "But that's all."

 "Get along?"

 "No," Sherlock said with feeling.  "Do you get along with your brother?"

 "Sister, actually," he corrected. "And no."

 "Sister?" Sherlock said, affronted.

 "Mhm. Harriet. Most people call her Harry."

 Sherlock scowled.  "Always something."

 "I think you've figured out my life fairly well. One or two mistakes isn't bad."

 "Doesn't mean I like it."

 "Give it time, maybe," John suggested.

 "Give what time?" Sherlock asked.

 "This skill of yours. Maybe one day you'll get it all right."

 Sherlock stared.

 "What?"

 "Nothing."  He made the staring stop.

 "You could. You got it all right about my major and stuff that time we talked."

 "No.  I, know that.  Just.  Apparently you do too."  He tried to shrug casually.

 John watched him. "Guessing that I'm out of the ordinary in that respect?"

 "A bit."

 He wasn't sure why. It was obviously impressive. How people didn't recognize it was confusing to him.

"So, why medicine?" Sherlock picked to change the subject.

 "Well, I always wanted to help people," he said, shifting on the bed. "Considered more non-profit work, but medicine was always kind of interesting to me. I liked learning anatomy in school. So I chose medicine instead."

 "And the military?"

 "They need people. It would be exciting." He shrugged. "Not sure about that yet though."

 Sherlock nodded and fell silent.

"And chemistry?"

"Because Mycroft made me come here and I don't know what else to pick.  I like chemistry."

 "You didn't want to come?" That was surprising to John. Sherlock was obviously intelligent, so he’d have thought someone like Sherlock would see university as a requirement.

 "No."

 "Why not?"

 "I thought it would be boring and filled with people who loathe me,” he said simply.

 "And the verdict?"

 "It is boring and filled with people who loathe me," Sherlock repeated.

 "Not everyone."

 "True.  You don't seem to loathe me.  I believe one of my chemistry professors doesn't loathe me.  But go into a class and ask a random student if they know the name Sherlock Holmes.  Let them talk for a while."

John leaned forward a bit. "And how many of them actually know you?"

"Does it matter?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

 "Yes."

"Why?  Everything they say is completely true.  You just happen to think it's all interesting."

 "If they don't know you, how can they judge you?" John shook his head. "Idiots."

 "Is it judging if they simply repeat facts?" Sherlock challenged.  "I do drugs.  I'm strangely attached to Victor Trevor.  I'm first in our class.  I dislike nearly everyone."  He waved it away, unbothered.

 John shrugged. "People still judge. But if it doesn't bother you, more power to you."

 "You are a strange creature," Sherlock observed.

 John contemplated this. "Been called worse," he decided.

 Sherlock laughed.  "Get dinner with me?"

 "Sure."

* * *

 

 John hadn't been staring at him during lectures, lately, and it was a problem.  He had invested too much effort into this to not make it a truly regular thing.  So, he might need to sacrifice a little to ensure future interactions.  With a determined nod to himself, Richard approached John in broad daylight... or, rather, in slightly less completely-isolated territory... on a Saturday evening.  He was wearing a tight black shirt and he was aware that he looked good.  It complimented the skin of his neck.  John liked his neck.  Thus the shirt.  John was walking back from the cafeteria, and Richard cut him off.  He leaned on the wall, smiling easily.  "Hello."

John looked up at him. "Hello." He'd not really talked to Richard since that night, with the game. To be honest, though Sherlock had pushed it, some of those things he'd said had made him just a bit wary. Granted, he certainly wasn't considering dating him, but even so...

Richard actively suppressed a frown. Yes, this was a man who was definitely losing interest.  "How have you been?" he asked.

"Good. You?"

"Good, except that I am apparently destined to fail every other time I attempt to sleep with you."  Richard grinned.

Wow, he'd said it in public. That was surprising. "Two out of three. Not a great record."

 "If you shoot me down now, my record will be tarnished forever," he said.  "So let me sweeten the deal."

 John quirked an eyebrow, waiting.

 "You're new at this.  Men."

 "Ah, you remember."

 Richard ignored this because he remembered that John's tongue was good at things other than being sarcastic.  "So, you've never fucked a man."

 "I haven't," John agreed.

 "Want to?"

John contemplated this. On the one hand, he wasn't really sure what he felt about Richard. Wasn't really sure if he was someone he wanted to spend a lot of time with. On the other, he was attractive, and it wasn't looking likely that he'd have any other attractive men asking him for a shag. "I could be convinced," he said eventually. It wasn't as if he was committing to anything long term.

 "Really?" Richard said, pushing off the wall and approaching.  The area had emptied out.  "What would it take to convince you?  You've had women.  To convince you to have me, would I have to describe the difference?  Describe how you have to finger him open, but once you're inside it feels nearly the same, but it's hotter and tighter and you can feel every move he makes as you fuck him?  Or should I describe how it's the same?  Making someone fall apart under you until you finally _let_ them come?"

John watched him for a moment. "Suppose I could see for myself," he said. Sure, maybe some people would comment on him falling into bed with Richard again so easily, but hell, the guy was attractive. Besides, he knew for a fact that hookups at uni were very, very normal.

Richard came closer.  "Now." Really, it was the last thing he wanted.  He hated bottoming.  He'd rather just not have sex.  But it was an investment.

 "Now works for me."

Richard was leading him back towards the dorms. As John turned, he saw Sherlock. Feeling strangely like he was being caught doing something wrong, he gave a small wave and followed after Richard.

 Feeling absurd, Sherlock waved back.  Yes, Sherlock, he thought to himself.  Wave at the man you're interested in as he goes off to fuck a man you hate.

When the dorm door was closed behind them, Richard pulled John in for a filthy kiss, wasting no time in leading them towards the bed.  He had a plan.  He needed to put it into action. John must not be allowed to lose interest. Richard tugged John the rest of the short distance and sat down on the bed.  He pretended to be startled and leapt back up. "Dammit, Victor!" he cursed loudly.

 John took a step back at the sudden movement. "What?"

 "Never room with a junkie," Richard said, shaking his head.  He twisted his cell phone in his pocket, then scooped up the bag of cocaine from the bed.  "No matter how convenient his sleep and class schedule."  He dumped the bag into John's hand.  "Throw that shit away."  He snapped a silent picture.

 John looked at it a moment, then shook his head. "He just leaves it lying around?" he asked, eyes moving across the dorm until he found the bin. "You don't think someone will notice it in there?"

 "I know he will, but it sends a message."  He looked John over.  "Come back."

 John tossed it, thinking no more of it, and moved back across the room.

 Under the guise of removing his phone from his pocket in order to take off his trousers, Richard made sure the picture was saved.  Excellent.  Then he really did drop them.

Well that was forward. Not that John had any complaints. Nor did he have any complaints with any of the activities that followed. Though, after Sherlock had mentioned it, he couldn't help but notice how Richard's arse really was the only hairy bit of him. It nearly made him chuckle, but that would have been rather inappropriate. He pushed the thought aside and went back to the task at hand.

\--

Sherlock had decided that if John was going to be occupied, he did not see a reason he couldn't be occupied, too.  So he texted Victor to come to his room instead, as Victor's was... occupied.

 Victor and Sherlock tended to get together for one of two reasons, most of the time now.  And Victor was already high, so he was hoping it would be the second. He knocked on the door.

"Why are you bloody knocking?" Sherlock replied.

Victor blinked at the door, not actually sure, and walked in.

"Sebastian's not here, and if he was it's been too long since he's seen us naked, anyway," was Sherlock's greeting as, already topless, he started in on Victor's clothes.

 Ah, good. Option two, then. He kissed Sherlock lazily.

Sherlock had him naked in short order, dropped his own trousers and pants next, doing it all without breaking the sloppy kiss.  "Top or bottom?" he asked, tilting his head to chew along Victor's neck to give him a chance to respond.

Victor hummed in thought. "Bottom, today."

Sherlock pushed him to the bed, spread his legs with his knee.  He popped a finger in his mouth and then worked it in.  "I want John," he said, leaning forward to lathe over Victor's stomach.

 "Do you?" he asked, unconcerned.

He hummed in confirmation, pressing another finger in.  "Think he'd go for me?"

 "If you can drag Richard's claws out of him."

 Sherlock snorted, scissoring.  "He doesn't care about Richard."

Victor shifted a bit underneath him. "Richard has _invested_ in him though. Didn't you notice? Him, more than once?"

 "Of course I noticed," Sherlock scoffed, lining himself up.  "But what's he going to do?  Finally cross the line of _actually_ holding someone down and fucking them?"

"It's Richard," Victor offered after Sherlock had pressed in.

Sherlock scowled, waiting for Victor to nudge him so he could start moving.  "He can't have him. _I_ want him."

 Victor gave a small, impatient jerk upward. "Then take him."

 Sherlock started moving.  "I'm going to try.  But if I get him, there will be no more of this until he dumps me."

 Victor shrugged, taking hold of his cock and stroking lazily. "Okay."

 "I meant the drugs," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. "He's pre-med, he doesn't like it."  He gave a few thrusts, harder.  "But this too, obviously.  I'm going to come."

 Victor stroked faster. "Wow, you're really hung up on this guy," he said, amused.

 "Fuck you," Sherlock observed.  "Oh wait."  He smirked and thrust in one more time, coming with a grunt.

 Victor followed a few strokes later. When Sherlock did get John (as he usually got what he wanted) he might miss this. It had been nice not working for his sex.

 Sherlock got out and off, grabbed a box of tissues and tossed it at Victor.  He started getting dressed.

 Victor cleaned himself, motions a bit lethargic. He considered his clothes but they were across the room.

"Sebastian will be back in an hour," Sherlock said, getting all his clothing back on and heading for the door.

 "Good to know," Victor said, relaxing back on the bed.

"If you could have your cock out and flaccid, all the better," Sherlock said, and left. He considered the situation as he walked. He knew Richard. If Richard was investing in John, it would be best to get John away from him as soon as possible. John had said he wasn’t emotionally interested in Richard, and that was good. Richard was never emotionally interested in anyone either. But if he got a good hold on John, it would be very hard to get him to let go, whether John was interested or not. And even if he didn’t want John, he’d not let a friend get sucked in by Richard.

But he really, really did want John. If he was lucky he could get John away from Richard, and maybe, possibly, could get John interested in him too.


	5. Chapter 5

John had popped into the campus cafe to grab a coffee when it had started raining. He shrugged and sat at a table, pulling out his biology book and reading.

 Sherlock looked up.  He blinked.  John was sitting across from him.

 John didn't notice, focusing on a sentence he'd skimmed twice and not actually comprehended.

 "...John?" Sherlock said eventually, when it was obvious that John hadn't noticed him.

 John blinked and looked up. "Oh, hi, Sherlock," he said, a smile automatically lighting his face. "Didn't see you."

 Sherlock smiled back, feeling floaty.  "It's raining," he blurted.

 John's smile widened. "Excellent observation."

 Sherlock smiled back.  More.

 John grabbed his things, switching so he was properly at Sherlock's table. "Been here long?"

 He nodded.  "I'm practicing."

"Practicing?"

"Practicing deducing people."

"Trying to perfect it?"

He nodded.

"I'm sure you'll get there," he said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"The problem is, I can't confirm if I'm right or wrong."

 John nodded. "I can see the issue."

 John's hair was wet.

 John noticed Sherlock looking at his hair but didn't comment.

 Why did John's hair being wet make it look even better than usual?  That didn't make sense.  He just looked... debauched.  Maybe... rugged?

 "Could practice on me?" he suggested when they were quiet for a while.

 His hair was just so... or, rather, his hair being wet just made the rest of him so...

 "Sherlock?"

 "Hm?" he asked, jerked out of his reverie.  "What?"

 "Back with me?"

"Yes," he said firmly.

 John hummed and drank more coffee.

 Sherlock's coffee had been empty for an hour.  He'd kept it as a beard.  He was now glad he had it.  He took a fake sip.

"Haven't seen you in a couple days. Been up to anything?"

"No, not really," Sherlock mused.  Other than deciding he had to have John.  "Have you?"

"Outside of another round, no," John said. "Just studying, really."

 Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Figured you'd noticed," John said simply.

"When someone asks you what you've done in the last few days, you tell them you've had sex?  You list that as one of your activities?  Do you only do that when the other person already knows, or do you always do that?"

 "Only when the other person already knows."

 "If they already know, then why say it?"

 "You already know plenty. We could never have a conversation again if we followed those rules."

 Sherlock blinked, then he cracked a grin.

 John finished his coffee and stood. "Want another?" he asked, gesturing at Sherlock's cup.

 "No, I'm sleeping tonight."

 "Wouldn't that be nice," John said, going to the counter to order another drink before joining Sherlock again.

 "If you didn't care about your grades, you could sleep more," Sherlock pointed out, watching John because he was much more interesting than anything else in the room.  That did not mean he failed to notice the girl who was staring at the way John's shirt displayed his shoulder blades.

 "I am here for a reason," John said, drinking his coffee happily.

 That was so profound, so deep.  John was here.  For a reason.  A Reason.  His hair was dripping on his collar.

"You're a bit quiet," he observed.

 "Haven't slept in three days," he said.  It was true but not the reason he was quiet.  He was quiet because he was undressing John with his eyes.

 "Three days?" John asked, staring at him. "You should at least get a couple hours a night. How are you functioning?"

"I've always been like this," he said.  "Three days is a bit long even for me, but sleep is a waste of time.  Chemistry is best done at four in the morning."

 "Sleep keeps your body alive," John said. It wasn't healthy. It was important that Sherlock didn't just...pass out, walking around or something.

 "Thank you, Doctor."

 "It's in your best interest to take my advice. I am currently being trained after all. Someday people will pay me good money for this advice."

 "And proceed to ignore it."

 "Get paid either way."

Sherlock smiled just a bit stupidly.  John was interesting.  Interesting and pretty.  Hot, rather.  Really, really hot.  Especially when wet.

 "Rain is slowing down," he observed.

 "No it's not," Sherlock said quickly.

 John blinked at him.

 He blinked, then looked out the window.  "Oh.  You're right."  He turned back.

 John drank more coffee silently.

 Sherlock cleared his throat.

 "Anything on tonight? Besides sleeping."

 If he said no, did he seem... what was he doing?  "No," he said honestly.

 "Want to grab dinner, then? I've not eaten since breakfast."

 "Okay," Sherlock said a little too quickly.  He vaguely remembered a time when he had been smooth.

 John shot him a smile. He really liked that Sherlock seemed to enjoy being with him. A lot.

 "When will you be hungry?" Sherlock asked.

 He shrugged. "Whenever is fine with me."

 "I'm hungry now."

 "Then now."

 Sherlock smiled again.

* * *

 

Over the next few days, John started seeing Sherlock a lot more. He liked Sherlock. He liked talking to him, and being around him. He was interesting, and funny, and he felt like he could be himself around him. Sherlock wasn't putting up any front about himself. It was just Sherlock. Slowly John began to realize that he might like him. Might want to try and date him. Properly date, not just shag. He wasn't sure how receptive Sherlock would be to the idea but there was no harm in trying, so that's what he was on the way to do.

 Sherlock had been spending a lot of time with John, and he had fully accepted that he was wild about him.  John was... _nice_.  And he was funny.  John thought he was interesting, and was interesting himself.  Sherlock didn't get bored talking to him.  He wasn't brilliant, but he was very bright, and collected, and motivated.  He knew useful things that Sherlock didn't know.  And he thought Sherlock's "skill" could amount to something.  And he didn't mind it.  He liked it.  He liked _Sherlock_.  Sherlock was reclined on his bed, ignoring Sebastian who was listening to some pop song about possibly calling someone they'd just met.

As John crossed campus he couldn't say he was completely confident. He didn't know that Sherlock would be interested. But he didn't think Sherlock would be so disinterested that they'd stop speaking.

 Richard saw John and trotted to catch up with him.  He walked alongside him.  "Hey," he said cheerfully.

 Richard typically only approached John for one reason, and he was decidedly not interested now. "Hello," John said, friendly but hoping Richard had other motives.

Richard hadn't enjoyed the previous encounter.  He hated bottoming.  So now he was hornier than usual because it had been a while since he'd actually been satisfied.  Still, he planned carefully.  What would John respond to this time.  "Busy?" he asked, friendly.

 "A bit, yes," he said, shooting Richard a quick smile and hoping he'd leave it.

"Right.  Well, we're getting to have a bit of a tradition, so maybe you could come over after whatever you have to do."  He put on a mock-serious voice, one that usually made John chuckle.  "Traditions are very important."

Richard was charming, John would give him that. He smiled towards him again. "I don't know," he said. "Will have to see." He didn't want to flat-out deny Richard. For one Sherlock might not be interested, and sex with Richard was good. On the other, even if Sherlock said yes, he wanted to be...polite about it. Either way he couldn't really answer yet.

 Richard's smile fell a fraction.  He could probably push just a bit more without putting John off forever.  He had to try; it had been over a week and he was pretty much ready to explode.  Maybe some guilt?  "Bummer," he said, ratcheting the smile back up.  "I hate bottoming, so I was kind of hoping-" he made his eyes go wide.  "I mean, I'm glad we did that.  I wanted you to have that."  He nodded.  "But yeah.  Never mind.  If you get some time tonight, then lemme know...?"

He hated to bottom? John _had_ got the impression he preferred to top. It was kind of nice, that he did it so John could get a chance. Even so..."I will," he assured him. "If not I'll see you tomorrow in class."

 Richard knew a blow-off when he heard one.  When John sped up, Richard scowled at his back.

John made it to Sherlock's dorm without further interruption and knocked.

Sherlock didn't answer.  Sebastian's useless friends were always coming and going.  He rolled over on his bed and thought about John some more.

 He knocked again.

"Get the damn door for your useless friend," Sherlock snapped at Sebastian.

 Sebastian snapped right back, "It's not my useless friend, it must be your filthy whore."

 There were voices, so John knew someone was in. He waited.

"My whore has had all his shots," Sherlock snarked back.  "He's disgusting, not filthy."  He rolled off the bed and sulked to the door.

 "I know how small the dorms are. Really shouldn't take that long to cross a room," John said as the door opened.

 "John!" Sherlock yelped.  "Hi.  Yes.  Come in.  Didn't know you were coming.  Hello."  He backed into the room, hastily kicking some random trash under his bed out of sight to try to be less gross.

 John followed, glancing at the roommate he hadn't met yet then back to Sherlock. "Hello."

 Sebastian's eyebrows were in his hair, watching his roommate scuttle around the room.  "He's cleaning," he said dumbly.

 "You don't have to," John said.

 "For the love of God, don't stop him!" Sebastian cried.

 John's lips quirked up as he watched Sherlock.

 Sherlock wavered, stacked one last pile of notes, and then sat down sharply on his bed.  He looked at John wide-eyed.  "Hello."

 "Hello."

 "Oooooh."  Sebastian smirked and went back to his laptop.

Sherlock shot him a scowl.

 "How are you?"

 About as good as could be expected when he hadn't had a fix in several days.  "Good.  I'm good.  How are you?"

 "Good. I'm good."

 Sherlock stared at him.

John hadn't wanted to do this with an audience. "I wanted to ask if you'd like to get dinner. With me." A pause. "Off campus, I mean." Did that sound enough like a date? "Somewhere nicer." Maybe now it did.

 "Okay," Sherlock said instantly.  Was that a date?  Well, it didn't matter.

 Dates were not usually on the day you asked, so... "Next weekend? Or this week. After classes. Either way is good. For me."

 "Is this a date?" Sherlock blurted.  Dammit, apparently it did matter.  Fuck.  Dammit.  "Um, I mean... either.  Tomorrow.  Whatever."

 "Yes. If you want to."

 "Of course he wants it to be, he cleaned for you!" Sebastian butted in.

 Sherlock glared at him again.

 "I want more of the cleaning," Sebastian said pointedly in response to the glare.

 John continued watching Sherlock for confirmation.

Sherlock noticed that John was watching him.  "Yes, a date would be.  Good."

John smiled, relieved. "Alright. Good."

"I've got nothing on today!" he blurted again.  Then he put his hand over his face.  He had some kind of disease, obviously.

 "I don't either."

 Sherlock tried to nod casually but it came out as more of an anxious twitch.

"So. Seven?"

 "Seven!"  He cleared his throat.  "Yes, seven."

 John nodded. "Alright. I'll stop by here, then?"

 Sherlock would bribe Sebastian to be elsewhere.  Possibly with more cleaning, because he apparently liked that.  "Ok."

John nodded again. "Nice meeting you," he told Sebastian, smiling at Sherlock again before leaving.

The moment John was gone, Sherlock leapt to his feet and rounded on Sebastian.  "What do I have to do to get you to not be here at seven tonight?" he demanded.

 Sebastian smirked at him. "You think you can fuck him before you've even had the date? Ambitious."

 "Maybe I just don't want to spoil the mood with your ugly face," Sherlock snapped. "Let's talk conditions."

 "Alright," he said, leaning forward. "What are you offering?"

 "I'll clean," he said instantly.

 "That will get you seven. But any later than 7:15, and I need more."

 Sherlock thought furiously.  "I'll get you a date with that girl who fancies me and doesn't know you exist."

Sebastian considered this. "I suppose that might do. For now."

"She puts out," Sherlock added.

"Alright," he agreed easily.

Sherlock blinked.  "Right.  Okay.  I should... shower!" He sniffed himself.

 "Don't scare him off before you get a good shag out of him. He's hot," Sebastian offered, going back to his magazine.

"I'm not going to scare him off, I'm going to marry him," Sherlock snapped.

 "Bit obsessed."

 "I'm aware," Sherlock grumbled.  He grabbed his towel and flew to the shower.

* * *

 

 The date had gone well.  Brilliantly.  John had looked nice.  Amazing.  Sherlock had tried to look nice.  John had actually showed up.  That was even better.  And they'd eaten Italian, some place called Angelo's.  He'd made John laugh.  Once so hard that he'd nearly choked on ravioli.  Which had been scary.  But afterwards he had been pleased.  But it was good.  John was smiling and he seemed happy and he hadn't left in the middle of the date and Sherlock hadn't had any beverage poured on him.

 It had gone better than he'd imagined. It wasn't awkward. They'd walked and eaten and talked and laughed, and it all just felt good. He hadn't felt uncomfortable, and Sherlock hadn't seemed to be either. Now they were walking slowly back, just arriving on campus and turning towards the dorms.

 Sherlock was sure he'd never walked more slowly.  He didn't want to get back.

 It was dark, and there were few people around. Feeling a bit unsure now, he brushed Sherlock's hand. Richard had seemed very concerned with no one knowing, but he wasn't sure that was true for Sherlock.

Sherlock turned towards him, unaware that other human beings existed.

 "Is that alright?" he asked.

 Sherlock blinked at him.  "Why wouldn't that be alright?" he asked.

 "Well some people don't want others. To know."

 Sherlock stared for another moment.  "That absolute moron," he cursed.  Then he wrapped his arms around John and seized him and kissed him.

John hadn't expected it, though he certainly didn't protest, kissing back eagerly.

 When John didn't slap him, Sherlock wrapped his arms tighter, pulled John closer, kissed him deeper.  He had John.  Maybe just for now.  But he had him, and he was going to kiss the breath out of him so that John would damn well always remember him, just like Sherlock would remember John even if it all ended now.  He tangled the fingers of one hand in John's hair, twisting, drawing him even closer, pressing against him.

A date with Sherlock was enough to wipe any thought of Richard away. A kiss like this, though, was enough to wipe away any _memory_ of him.  John pressed into the kiss, arms wrapping around Sherlock, feeling an intense need to just be closer. To feel more. To never stop kissing him.

 Sherlock inhaled audibly when John tangled himself up with him.  He was nearly certain that it was impossible for him to stop kissing John.  "Please," he said between kisses, fingers digging into John's back, "let me see you again."

 "Yes," he said against Sherlock's lips. "Again. Whenever you want."

 He bit down, not too hard.  John was here, with him, kissing him, and they were holding each other and it was better than anything with Victor had ever been even in the beginning when it had been fire.  "Now."

 He pressed in closer, if that was possible. "Yes."

 He hadn't expected John to agree.  Sherlock hadn't exactly been sure what his question was.  In the mean time, he just kept kissing him furiously.  Maybe if he consumed him...

 "You," John said between kisses, barely able to find the breath to speak the words, "are. Amazing. Amazing, Sherlock."

Sherlock started walking, dragging John with him, not knowing where he was going.  Hopefully his feet would work that out for him.  "You shouldn't exist," he breathed, both hands going to John's hair, now, mauling it.

 John followed without complaint, hands firmly on Sherlock's hips. "Can't believe you said yes to me."

 "How could I say something else?"

 John didn't know. He kissed him again.

 Sherlock kissed back, hard, and then pulled away to stare at John, clutching his face.  He looked at his blown pupils, his kiss-swollen lips, his flushed face, his parted mouth through which he was panting, his wild hair.  He stared at all of it, memorized it.  It was the most extraordinary thing he'd ever seen.

To have that much attention, that full attention from Sherlock on him...he couldn't describe it. He stared back, knowing he couldn't memorize the way Sherlock could, but wanting to.

 He wanted John.  Every fiber of him wanted every inch of John.  Even if his arse turned out to be hairy.  Even if he had six toes on one foot or just six toes total.  He took a deep, slow breath, then leaned forward and kissed him chastely, sweetly.  Then he pulled back, out of John's arms.  "Goodnight, John," he whispered.

 John caught his hand, without even thinking about it. The action startled him a bit. He looked up at Sherlock and took a moment to just stare. He'd dated. He'd had sex. He'd even thought himself in love, once. Naively. But this, after one date...he'd not felt so strongly about a person after dating for months, and here was Sherlock, with just one date.

 Sherlock held it for a moment, tightly, and then put it down at John's side.  "See you tomorrow."  He took a few steps back, eyes not leaving John.

 John nodded, not taking his eyes off him. "Yes. Tomorrow."

 Sherlock took a few more steps.  He didn't want to go.  He wanted John.  To kiss more, to have sex with, maybe, then to sleep with.  And hold.  And hear him laugh.  He made himself take more steps, then with one last look, turn around and walk away.

 John didn't want Sherlock to go. He wanted to kiss him. It didn't even have to lead to sex. Just sit and kiss him and hold him and be near him. And in public. Sherlock would kiss him in public. But he wasn't going to push, so he watched him go and turned towards his own dorm, feeling floaty. At least he'd see him tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

-Sherlock, so sorry. Can't meet you today. I forgot about a paper and it's due tomorrow-

 Sherlock got the text, stared at the text, and after a long time, finally answered the text.  -Okay.  See you tomorrow. SH-

 Sherlock stared at his phone in disbelief.  He should have just done it last night.  Why had he decided to be romantic?  He could have just brought John back to his room. Sebastian had been gone.  It had all been perfect.  He'd only survived because he'd thought today... he was buying that man a planner.

 Sebastian glanced over at him, smirking at the look on Sherlock's face. "Get stood up?"

 Sherlock ignored him.  He did believe John had a paper- he'd been present for that kiss and he knew with absolute certainty that John wasn't messing around.  Maybe an ice-cold shower would help this situation.

 "Was the sex that bad?"

 "I don't put out on a first date," Sherlock said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

 Sebastian gave a low chuckle. "And yet you keep your whore around?"

 "I didn't sleep with him after the first date, either."  He rolled his eyes.  "But, if you must know, I dismissed him from service."

 "Maybe a bit too soon."

 Sherlock was done with this.  Cold shower time.

 "Bye," he called cheerily.

 Sherlock gave him the two fingers as he left.

\---

 Mike Stamford watched John worriedly as he flung himself around the room.  "You got in late last night," he observed carefully.  "And now you seem... tense..."

 "It wasn't late enough," John said, glaring at his computer open to a blank document.

"So, the date went well but not... well enough...?"  John was tenser than he'd ever seen him.

"It went well. And I got a lovely snog out of it. An amazing, intense one that _should_ have led to something, but then Sherlock was all dramatic and walked away and now I can't even sleep with him tonight because of this paper." He angrily gave the document a title and paced away again.

Mike had heard things about Sherlock Holmes, not great things by any means.  But John had spent the last few weeks gooey-eyed and happy, and he wasn't an idiot.  And Mike knew how rumors spread (right before Uni, one had gone around that Mike was bulimic, for some reason).  So maybe Holmes wasn't as bad as everyone said.  "He 'was all dramatic and walked away'?"

 "Yes!" He turned to face him. "He kissed me and it was amazing and then he said goodnight all quietly and left."

"Maybe he was nervous?" Mike suggested.

 "No he wanted to drive me crazy."

 "Seems to be working."

 John threw himself down in his chair and glared at the document.

 "So why don't you go over there today?"

 "Because of this!" He gestured at the laptop angrily.

 "Well when's it due?"

 "Tomorrow."

Mike cringed.  "Sorry.  Any way I can help with the paper?  I've got nothing on.  Research or anything?"

 John looked at him. "You are a wonderful individual."

 Mike grinned.

\---

 Sherlock forced himself to sleep that night because he simply couldn't stand being awake and this desperate.  When he woke up the next morning to a text, he sprang from his bed, already running through his head what he might have to offer to Sebastian to get him to leave the room for when John came over and... And the text wasn't from John.

-Get in the car.  MH-

Sherlock glared at his phone.  It was causing him problems, lately. 

-No.  I have a date. SH-  Sort of.

 -I said, get in the car. MH-

 Sherlock cursed for a solid fifteen seconds.  He put on clothes, rubbed his hair to tame it, and stomped out of the dorm and to the street.  He glared at the car as he approached it.

"What?" he demanded into the open window.

 "In," he said poshly.

 Sherlock crossed his arms and glared at him.  "Tell me why."

 "You are trying my patience, little brother.  In."

 He narrowed his eyes, but Mycroft was using the Not Fucking Around voice so he got in.  He crunched up defiantly in his seat and stared out the window.

 The car took off.

 "I really do have a date," Sherlock grumbled to the door.

 "With?"

 Sherlock shot him a dirty look.  "Not Victor Trevor."

 "Really?" Mycroft asked, not looking at him. "You seemed rather...attached to him."

 "She's better than Victor," Sherlock said in a burst of inspiration.

 "She?" Mycroft asked with a touch of surprise.

 Sherlock smirked.

 "Regardless, this is not what I brought you here to discuss."

 "A discussion?  Excellent.  My answer is no.  Nice talking to you, brother, now do let me out."

 "You have picked up some rather unsafe habits since starting University, Sherlock," Mycroft said, ignoring him.

 He banged his head on the back of his seat.  "Oh my God, really?  You're giving me this talk now when I've _just_ quit?"

 Mycroft gave him a look. "You think I will believe you that easily?"

 "No," he sighed.

 "Good. Now, text your date that you're not going to be able to make it. I want to have a long discussion about this issue."

 Sherlock gave Mycroft the glare he had learned from him.  It was like ice.  Unfortunately his brother was actually composed of the stuff so it didn't have an effect.  Sherlock sighed and gave up. 

-Been kidnapped.  See you tomorrow. SH-

 -Kidnapped?-

 -My brother. SH-

 -Oh. Alright. Tomorrow then-

John cursed and nearly threw his phone across the room. Mike, evidently, noticed and shot him a sympathetic look as John sat on his bed, glaring at the wall.

\---

 -Any papers? SH-

 -No. Any brothers?-

 -No. SH-

 -So you're free?-

 -Yes.  And you? SH-

 -Yes-

\---

 Sherlock, already tense from head to toe and hard as a rock, knocked on John's door.

John stood and went to the door. Thankfully it was Sherlock. No more distractions. He stepped aside to let him in.

 Sherlock came in and kept walking, not even looking around at the room, for once.  His eyes were fixed only on John, and they were ravenous.

 John closed the door, pulled out his phone, and turned it off, carelessly tossing it on the desk.

 Sherlock didn't stop and he didn't say anything.  He simply walked into John and wrapped around him and kissed him like he'd done two nights ago.

God, he'd been thinking about that kiss for days. John pressed into it, arms wrapping around Sherlock in turn to bring him in as close as possible.

He groaned when John's arms tightened around him, as their lips slotted together just right, just like before.  Instantly, there was the same heat, fire and electricity and something else that Sherlock didn't have the blood in his brain to name.  Their bodies were pressed together, he could feel John everywhere and it was heady and intoxicating and they were still fully clothed.

 John took a step back, towards the bed, taking care to pull Sherlock with him. He wanted no space between them. None. And Sherlock followed, pushing him the rest of the few steps, unwilling to toss John down onto the bed because it meant distance and choosing instead to simply dump them both onto it.

Three days ago, he had intended to drag this out when it happened.  But the way John was touching him, pawing at his clothes, Sherlock didn't think that was an option.  Still, though, he didn't want it to be over too fast.  He dug in closer, kissed deeper, touched more, wanting some kind of sound from the man pinned under him, wanting more in general.

 "Off," he panted when Sherlock pressed closer, instead of doing the intelligent thing, which was removing all clothing. He tugged at the shirt in emphasis, not giving Sherlock a chance to answer before diving back in for another kiss.

 There was his limit.  He immediately struggled out of it, then got his hands under John's shirt.  "Off," he echoed, voice cracking.

 John leaned up, pulling it off and letting it fall off the bed, laying back down and dragging Sherlock with him. Skin. Finally. His hands explored it, moving slowly.

 The slow, slow drag of John's hands over him did something to his brain.  Any bit of coherency or nerves or anything else that might have previously existed did not anymore.  In response, he touched anywhere he could on John at the same speed, slow and thorough, memorizing.

 And Sherlock's hands were amazing. Brilliant, amazing, hands. Everywhere he touched was electric. John wanted Sherlock to touch more. Or less, and get his trousers off. Or both. God, he wanted him. He wasn't sure how he'd lasted days without him.

 Sherlock, for his part, was having similar thoughts. He didn't know if it was because he'd wanted him for weeks, or if it was the two days they'd waited not by choice, or if it was simply because it was John.  Maybe a combination.  But it had never been like this.  He mouthed along John's neck until he could say into his ear, "I want you so much."

 John's hips jerked up in response, seeking friction. He clutched Sherlock close to him. "Then have me," he breathed in return.

There it was, then.  Attacking John's lips, Sherlock got them both bare without further trouble, remembering at the last minute to snatch the condom he'd brought in his pocket and get it on.  Intravenous drug use and unprotected sex.  If he had something, he refused to give it to John.  He came back up to John's lips.  "I quit," he managed to say between hungry kisses.  "So.  After I get.  Tested and make sure.  If you want.  We can.  Not have."  No more talking.  He pressed in closer to John and kissed his way down his already-damp body.

John was having trouble breathing, and Sherlock hadn't even pressed in yet. It took a moment for the words to register, but when they did, he tugged Sherlock back up. "You did? You stopped?" he asked, not quite able to believe it. Sherlock had seemed set on drugs before.

 It took a beat for Sherlock to understand.  He had, after all, promised his brain no more words.  When the words penetrated, though, he said, "Yes."

 "I'm glad," he said simply.

 "I know, that's why I..."  His brain insisted on no more words again and he found himself devouring John's lips. John held on, kissing back, hands settling in Sherlock's hair, his neck, down his back.

Alright, John had stopped talking.  He kissed down his body again, pausing to place a long, full lick from the root of John's cock to the tip, looking up at John as he did so.

 " _God_ ," he groaned, trying very hard not to arch up against Sherlock's mouth.

 Sherlock groaned in response to John's noise and fumbled for lube which John had intelligently placed within arm's reach.  He slicked up his fingers and carefully worked one in. John let out a slow breath, eyes locked on Sherlock.

Sherlock went slow.  He should have bottomed this time, he was used to it.  John had done it... once?  Twice?  He forced himself to focus on proper technique with this.  He'd been able to slack off for years, but now it mattered.  He wanted to know if he was hurting him.  Would John tell him? He looked up at him, looking for a sign of some sort.

 John nodded. "Good, you're good."

 He smirked and then curled his finger.

John jolted, a sharp moan sliding past his lips.

 His smirk widened and he did it again.

 "Fuck," he groaned, spreading his legs farther apart subconsciously. "More. Need you."

 Dear sweet holy merciful... "Yes," he panted, getting another finger in, massaging, then another.  When he was completely sure it would be as painless as possible, he slicked up his cock and lined it up.  He paused to kiss John's sternum.

 "Do it, Sherlock. Want you inside me. Please."

 He groaned, and he did. John's breath caught in his throat, arms tightening around Sherlock. Sherlock immediately wrapped his free hand around John's cock, giving it several slow strokes as he waited.

 It took him a few moments to get used to the sensation, but finally, he nodded.

 He re-balanced on his arms for easier movements, then slowly, slowly pulled out a little.

 John didn't take his eyes off him. He'd had sex. He'd had sex with people he liked. But this was different. Better. So much better.

 Sherlock watched him as he slowly began to properly move, initially for pain or discomfort but after that, simply because he never wanted to look away.  Every little twitch, every time John's eyes widened, every jerk his body made, and the way he didn't look away from Sherlock, either.  Sherlock was far from a stranger to this activity, but he couldn't recall ever having done it with his eyes locked on the other person.  Ever _wanting_ to have his eyes locked on the other person.  "John..."

John felt like he was drowning. All of it was so much, but it wasn't enough either. Sex had never felt like this. For him to feel this much for someone he'd only know for a few weeks was incredible. "Harder," he panted, hips raising to meet Sherlock's thrusts. "Please. Need more of you."

 Instantly, Sherlock obliged, wrapping an arm around John's hips to keep him closer, to tilt him in a beneficial way.  Any time John raised his hips for more, Sherlock gave it to him, until they were slamming their bodies together, until a rhythm was nearly impossible to keep simply because they were slipping against each other from the sweat.  He watched John twist and pant and curve and never wanted it to stop, couldn't believe anyone ever gave this person up.  For the first time, as turned on as he was, unbelievably turned on, it was all about the other person.  He wanted to make John lose his mind.  "Talk," he breathed.  "John."

 "Now?" he asked, voice coming out strangled as Sherlock gave a particularly hard thrust. He could barely breathe, and Sherlock wanted him to talk?

 "Or.  Moan or."  He angled himself differently to see what would happen. "Just want... to hear..."

 John let out a loud cry, arching up and dragging Sherlock closer, holding him there. "That, that, again. Right there, again. Sherlock..."

 Sherlock's whole body jolted and he couldn't reply, but he did it again.  He made it standard, laser precision, because it was what John wanted and it made John make _that noise_ and Sherlock would never be able to delete it even if he tried.

 John had absolutely no control over the sounds he was making, or the way his body jerked. He'd never felt something so good in his entire life. He never wanted it to stop. "K-keep. You're ama-amazing. God, I...faster..." The heat was building and he knew that if Sherlock kept moving like that, he'd not last much longer.

 Sherlock moved faster.  It was all he could do.  "A-anything..."

 "Close," he managed, voice tight. God, how could it get _better_?

 "Me too."

 He looked up at Sherlock, feeling him, all around him. All at once, it was too much, and he was coming, crying out Sherlock's name loudly as his vision briefly seemed to go white. He held on tightly, having Sherlock above to ground him.

 Sherlock's name on his lips was enough.  John clutching him and hanging on for dear life and coming and squeezing around him was far, far too much.  Sherlock came harder and slower than he'd ever come in his life, calling John's name and forcing his eyes to stay open, not willing to miss anything.

 He eventually went limp. His heart was still pounding wildly against his chest. He turned hazy eyes up to Sherlock, watching him, taking sharp, shallow breaths. Dazed, Sherlock looked down at him.  His arms wanted to give out.  He let him, going down next to John and turning him so they were facing each other on their sides.  So that he didn't have to look away.

John tiredly raised a hand, tracing slowly down Sherlock's cheek, then arm. Eventually that was too much effort and he let it fall to the bed, simply watching him.

 Sherlock's eyes closed when John touched his cheek, opened when they met his arm.

 He didn't really have words, so he simply leaned in to press a very tired kiss to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock caught his face and kept the kiss for just a few moments longer.

 John pulled back, just a bit, and laid his head down on the pillow fully and Sherlock took John's hand, tangling their fingers together lightly, gazing at him.

 "That was..." No, still no words. He squeezed Sherlock's hand instead. John smiled at him. It was something he was sure he'd never be able to describe.

 Sherlock smiled back.

"Must do that again, sometime," he said, voice heavy, but pleased.

 Sherlock smiled softer and closed his eyes.  He nodded, just a little.

 John leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before laying back and closing his eyes too.

 Sherlock wanted to sleep with him.  Actually sleep.  But people had roommates.  But maybe he could just...

"Stay?"

 "Mike...?"

 "Be okay. Told him I'd text later."

 That was all he needed to hear.  Sherlock pressed just a little closer to John, and then he was asleep.

 John followed quickly after.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning!

Eventually, Sherlock did have to go back to his room.  He'd floated the entire way there, floated past Sebastian who had smirked at him and made some crude comment or other that Sherlock hadn't even heard.  His world was too pure right now for that sort of thing to register.  He went straight to bed, not showering because he didn't want to lose the scent of John, and curled up in his blankets and sheets and pillow and buried himself.  He felt whole and good and happy, and it was like that that he drifted off to sleep that night.

 The next day, John woke in a very good mood. He gathered his things absently, wondering when he could see Sherlock next. If only they had class together, he could see him that day. Hopefully he still would. But they'd be separated by classes for hours, and that just seemed unacceptable.

_-Lunch?  SH-_

 John smiled. _–Yes.  JW-_

 Sherlock grinned at his phone, and the grin didn't go away all day.

* * *

John hadn't 'had time' last weekend.  Surely he would find some this time.  So, as usual, Richard cornered John after their lecture together and sat down next to him.  "Hey," he said cheerfully.  "Boring one, huh?"

 "Bit boring, yeah." Since he'd been resisting the urge to text Sherlock through all of it.

 "So, did you have a good week?" Richard asked, oblivious.

 "Mhm. You?"

 "Same old, same old."  He shrugged.

 John had nothing to add as he gathered his things.

 Richard produced a laugh that he thought would fit the situation, and snatched away one of John's books.  "Hey, what's the hurry?"  He smiled.

 This was going to be really awkward. "Well, people are filtering in for the next class," he pointed out.

 Richard rolled his eyes good-naturedly.  "Get dinner with me.  Not a date, mind.  But with all the benefits!"

 Well, here went nothing. "I'm seeing someone, actually. Dating I mean. Just started."

 Richard's smile froze.  "Oh.  Cool.  Anyone I know?"

 So awkward. "Sherlock, actually."

 Richard stared at him.

 John shifted.

 "Really?"

 He nodded. "Yeah. Like I said, new."

Richard made a face.  "Well.  You enjoy _that_."  He shook his head.  He handed John his book back, and left.

 John shrugged, collected his things, and checked his phone. Sherlock had texted. He smiled, shot a quick text back, and left.

* * *

 When he was again in his room, Richard glared at Victor.  "You failed to mention that my wonderful investment had gone awry," he growled at him.

 "Oh, Sherlock got him, then?" Victor asked, sipping from his beer.

 "Thanks," Richard snarled, going to sit at his desk and glare at his computer mouse.  He'd bottomed for this.  He'd taken effort away from other conquests for this.  And now _Sherlock_?  The freak had probably just done it to get back at him.  Just to insult him.  Richard got out his phone and scrolled through his pictures until he found the one of John holding the drugs.

 "Hey, I lost mine too. Don't see me freaking out." Victor finished off his beer and tossed the can to the floor.

 "The only thing you freak out about is losing your drugs," Richard shot back.

 Victor shrugged, but he couldn't deny the truth.

Richard considered the picture for a bit.  Then he scrolled through his contacts.  He found John Watson.  He typed a brief message.  And then he hit 'send.'

* * *

John had been sitting in his dorm, working on homework for the next day, when he got the text. It was from Richard, and he rolled his eyes. It had just been sex so he wasn't sure why Richard was so hung up on it. When he saw the picture, he froze. He swore his heart actually stopped. The text was simple. _-My room. Eight. RS-_    John had only held drugs one time in his entire life, and that had been when Richard had handed them to him.

John considered his options. Tell someone. Tell anyone. But this was...absolute evidence.  Right?  Him holding drugs. The amount of trouble he would get in...maybe he could talk to Richard. Get him to delete it.

Sherlock, entirely unaware of the small drama that was occurring, had recently realized that he didn't have to only be dreaming of John at the moment, and could text him.

_-Hi.  SH-_

  _-Hi. JW-_ he texted back absently.

_-Do you want to come over at about 10?  We could watch that program about the time traveler.  The one you keep threatening to make me watch?  SH-_

 He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But he didn't know if he could. _-Maybe. Tons of stuff to do. Will let you know a little later?  JW-_

_-Ok.  Such a good student.  SH-_

_-Scholarship, remember? Text you later.  JW-_

_-Bye.  SH-_

John stared down at the phone. He'd talk to Richard. That's what he'd do. So at eight, he went to his dorm and hesitantly knocked.

 Richard opened the door, greeting John with a smile.  John did not smile, and stood there silently.

 "Come in."

 John did.

 Richard closed the door behind him.  "How can I help you?"

 "You texted me," John said stiffly.

 "Can't I text a mate?" he asked innocently.

 "Why did you take a picture of that?" John asked bluntly.

 The smile went away, and for perhaps the first time, Richard wasn't acting.  "I was protecting an investment."

 "An investment...?"

 "Yes," Richard said sharply.  "An investment.  I don't sleep with the same person twice, _John_.  That takes work.  I don't work for sex.  But you kept it quiet, you were a decent fuck, and you didn't text me constantly or try to date me or something.  You understood that we were just fucking.  It was convenient."

 "Yes," John said slowly, "we were. It was just sex. It can't be that hard to find someone else for just sex."

 "I invested, and lost my returns," he said, voice cooling.  "I don't think you understand how much I _hate_ letting someone stick their cock in me.  But I did it, expecting that this would benefit me in the future, and it never did."

John really didn't know what to say to that. "I can understand being...unhappy." He couldn't, really, but better to say so. "But please delete the picture. If I hadn't gotten interested in Sherlock, then this could have continued. But I did. What we did was fun but...I mean, there's Victor," he suggested. "He's free and seems to be good with casual sex. There's that?"

"The problem isn't finding someone new," Richard spat.  "And I'm not going to delete the picture.  I am, in fact, going to take it to whoever is in charge of your scholarship."

 "You can't!" John said, taking an involuntary step forward. Panic rose in his chest. He'd lose his scholarship. He might be expelled. He'd be forced to go back home and live with his dad again.

 Richard smirked.  "I can.  But I don't _have_ to."  He shrugged, and said something John had said weeks ago that felt like ages.  "I could be convinced."

 "What exactly do you want?" John asked slowly.

 "A return on my investment," he said simply, feeling the power shift back to him and feeling a little more like he had control of himself.  "Whenever I want, not more than once a week, probably, never less than every other week, you come here and do whatever I want."

 John shook his head. "I can't. I'm with Sherlock."

 Richard raised an eyebrow.  "Well then.  I believe the advisor for your free ride to Cambridge is Professor... Taylor?  I think that's it?"

 "Please, don't do this."  John couldn't think of a time he'd felt more terrified. He'd have to leave school. Go home. Stuck with dad, that horrible, alcoholic arse, for who knew how long? Work a crappy job, stuck, all because of one picture. "You don't understand how much I need this school."

 "I do," Richard said cheerfully.  "And that's what makes this such top-notch blackmail."

 "You can find someone else. Easily. Look at you.  You don't need me. You could find someone a lot better and a lot more experienced than me," John said, speaking faster, desperate to come up with any way out of this.

 "I could, yes.  But if you leave now without sucking me off first, this picture is going straight to Taylor."

 He didn't know what to do. Could he tell someone that he was being blackmailed? But Richard had evidence. Real evidence that would easily make him look guilty.

 Richard waited.

John's shoulders dropped, and he stared at the floor. There was nothing else for him to do. He'd have to, or Richard would send that picture. And he couldn't lose his scholarship.

Defeat.  Richard smirked.  "Well then.  Get on your knees."

Slowly, John did so, not looking up.

Radiating his smugness, Richard dropped his trousers and pants and presented himself.  He discovered after a few moments that John had very much never sucked on someone's cock before, and appeared not to have the gift naturally.  So, "Get up," he ordered.

John did, slowly, not able to meet his eyes.

"I've discovered that you're awful at that," Richard sighed.  "So get to the bed."

 John hesitated.

"Shame to be expelled after nearly three full years..."

 John silently moved to the bed, sitting down.

 Richard waited.  He looked at the time.  "Well, get started.  You've got five minutes until I come over there."  He stroked his damp cock lightly, just to keep interested.  He didn't think he needed to, though.  Power was... good.

 "What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly.

"I don't personally care, but I would think you might want to loosen up a bit."

 Richard really expected that to happen? John was positive he'd never been tenser in his entire life.

 "Stick your fingers in your arsehole if you don't want it to bleed," he clarified bluntly.

Oh.  Unsteadily, he tugged off his trousers and pants, doing just that, since it was evident Richard wouldn't be. He watched, and it made John feel even more exposed, and ashamed. Sherlock had said not to get involved with him and he hadn't listened.

Richard smiled like a wolf and got on the bed.

It hadn't felt like five minutes, but suddenly Richard was on top of him looking down at him with that smirk. It felt like his lungs were being squeezed and crushed in his chest. It felt like someone was choking him and he thought, a bit deliriously, that he'd be lucky if he didn't hyperventilate. He laid under Richard, passive, limp, because there was nothing he could do to stop it. Richard pinned his arms anyway, as if John was going anywhere. He set his lips, turned his head away, and waited for it to be over.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock, in his dorm, was just finishing up his assignment.  John had never texted back. That was rare, as John usually texted him back instantly or within half an hour. Sherlock frowned slightly at his phone and typed another message.

-Decide if we're on for Doctor Who or not?  SH-

 John stared down at his phone. Richard, satisfied, had let John go by this point. Mike was out, and he was sitting in his dorm. He still felt like he might be sick. He was still shaky. It had hurt, because Richard had certainly not been gentle. Simply, he was scared, and more than anything he just wanted to go to Sherlock and tell him. Be with him. He realized, now that it had happened, that Sherlock would be able to figure it out.

-I'll be over. Is Sebastian there? JW-

 -Good.  No. SH-

 Alright good. He stood, slowly. No, there was no way of hiding it. Maybe Sherlock would forgive him. Maybe Sherlock would have some idea of what to do. He slowly made his way to Sherlock's dorm.

 The grin that was on Sherlock's face when he opened the door disappeared instantly upon seeing John's face.  His eyes flickered over the rest of him and the frown deepened to a scowl.  He closed the door behind John.  "Who did this," he said in a low, dangerous voice.

 Sherlock could tell, already. He'd been right, no point in trying to hide it. "I'm sorry," he said, watching him. "I...I didn't want to."

 He seized the front of John's shirt, not pulling him in because it might hurt him, but his eyes were fire.  "I know you didn't.  Tell me who did."

 "Richard," he said, voice so quiet he'd be surprised if Sherlock heard it at all.

 Sherlock stared.  He released John's shirt.  His hands were fists at his sides.  "Stay here," he growled, and he strode out the door.

 "Wait! Sherlock." John went after him, catching his arm. "You can't. You don't know what happened."

 "He raped you," he hissed.  "What the /hell/ else do I need to know to go end him?"

 "No, just...just, you have to listen," he begged. "You can't. You have to listen to me. Please."

 He took a deep breath that was meant to be calming.  It wasn't.  "Listening."

 John glanced around at the hall. "In your room?" he asked, voice small.

 He marched back to his room and closed the door behind them again.  He turned to John and waited.  He was not able to sit down.

 "I said yes," he said, the three words tasting disgusting in his mouth. "I let him. He...once in his dorm, he found drugs. On the bed. And he handed them to me."

 Sherlock waited for him to say something that made sense.

 He'd felt like his chest was being crushed since going to Richard's and it wasn't getting any better. "He told me to throw them away. But he took a picture. He's going to use it to get me expelled, or at least lose my scholarship."

 Sherlock stared at him.  "He blackmailed you into sex with a photo he took of you holding drugs."

 He didn't know what to make of Sherlock's response. He nodded, looking away.

 He got out his phone.

 "What are you doing?"

 "Fixing it."

 "How? He has the picture. I'm sure he made copies."

 Sherlock snorted.  He scrolled and scrolled and scrolled through his phone until he found what he was looking for.  He held it up.  It was a voicemail.  It was Richard's voice, and he was clearly, extremely drunk.

"Las' night I came an' yer name wasson my lipsss Shurlock yer a beautifel man don' evr leh them tell ya otherweis i wanna make love fuck to you lemme know, phone meh bachk okay-"

 "You think that will stop him?" he asked, voice quiet.

 "He doesn't know I have it," Sherlock said, pleased.  "He doesn't remember and I never brought it up.  Just in case.  John, he won't even touch a man in public.  And this is clearly a proposition to the most hated, openly gay man in school."  He raised his eyebrows.

 John watched him. That was good. If Sherlock could stop him with that...but at the same time, it made him feel even worse. "I'm sorry," he said again. "If I'd come here, if I'd talked to you...I said yes. I said yes and you could have stopped it. I just let him do it."

 Sherlock stared at him blankly.  "What?"

 "I don't even deserve that scholarship, that's how much of an idiot I am," he said, voice rising slightly. "I just gave in. I just let him do whatever he wanted with me. Even though I'm with you. I just _let_ him."

 Sherlock's hand went to his hair.  "My god, rape psychology, what do I do?"  He tugged, then dropped his arms.  He grabbed John's shoulders and hauled him in and kissed him.

 John kissed back, automatically, but pulled back moments later. "No you...I messed up. You even warned me. You warned me _weeks_ ago and I didn't listen."

 "I warned you not to have feelings for him," Sherlock corrected.  "John, listen to me."

 "It's my fault. I could have said no. I should have said no."

 Oh no, it was an infinite loop.  "I'm glad you said yes!" he declared.

 "What?" he asked, staring at him.

 There.  Good.  He nodded.  "Yep.  I'm glad," he said pointedly.

 "W-why?"

 "Because if you had said no, he would either have hurt you more or he would have sent the picture."

 "So you think this is better?"

 "I'm not happy that you were raped," he said firmly, taking John's shoulders again so he didn't escape.  "But you need the scholarship.  Period.  Otherwise you're back with your father and that's... that's not acceptable.  And I don't want you torn to shreds, either."  He shook his head.  "I'm... you... I'm completely wild about you.  Completely.  Rape is not cheating.  If it was me?  Wouldn't you be happy right now that I didn't get kicked out of school or hurt horribly?"

 "I...yes."

 He shook him lightly, hoping he'd come up with more words.

 "I've never been more terrified," he said shakily.

 Sherlock's teeth slammed into each other so hard they ached and his eyes went to slits.  He got out his phone again.

 "What are you doing now?"

 "Texting Victor and telling him that I have photo evidence that Richard told someone to throw Victor's drugs away."

 "Why?"

 Sherlock paused, glanced up at him.  "Have you ever seen an angry junkie?"

 He shook his head mutely.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and finished the text.

At least he felt less guilty. And it would be okay. Sherlock was going to take care of it, and it would be okay. But he could still feel Richard's hands on him, and his weight above him, and it made him feel sick and his eyes burn. "Can I stay with you tonight?"

 "Yes," Sherlock said instantly.  He sent another text, then, to Sebastian and used his trump card.  "Sebastian won't be back tonight."

 John nodded slowly, throat tight, and moved in until he was pressed against Sherlock.

 Sherlock calculated quickly, but Richard would not be making a move tonight.  He would be too satisfied about what he'd done, and then too distracted by Victor's wrath.  Sherlock could take care of it tomorrow, show him the message and get the picture and any copies and destroy them.  He would know if Richard had coughed them all up, although he probably didn't make copies.  It took him only two seconds, and once he had his confirmation that John was safe and his plan of action, he wrapped his arms around John and guided him to sit on the bed, holding him close to his heart.

John moved in close, clutching to Sherlock's shirt so hard his knuckles turned white. He took a slow, calming breath, which in reality was more shuddering than anything.

 "It's okay," Sherlock said softly, curling over John to put his face in his hair.  "I promise I'll fix it all."

 He hid his face against Sherlock's shoulder, saying nothing, because he was pretty sure if he opened his mouth it would just come out choked. Even though he knew he was perfectly entitled, he didn't want Sherlock to notice the warm tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He held on just a bit tighter.

Sherlock wished he was more human so he would be able to understand what John was feeling outside of the theoretical.    He felt wet warmth and didn't point it out.

 "Can we lay down?" he asked. "It would probably be more..." What was a good word for it? "Comfortable."

 Sherlock promptly laid back, pulling John down with him and settling him on top, making sure not to pin him at all.

 John gratefully settled down on top of him, feeling at least a little better with Sherlock holding onto him. Part of him still just couldn't believe it had even happened. Less than three hours ago.

 Sherlock was frankly afraid to say anything, so he simply held him, stroking his hair.

 "And you'll make sure I don't have to. Again. Right?"

 "I can do it this instant if you let me have my arms back for approximately six minutes," he offered.

 John frowned. Six minutes sounded like a while.

 Sherlock shrugged and kept holding him.

 "In a bit?"

 "It doesn't matter to me," he said soothingly.

 "Okay."

Sherlock cleared his throat.  "Do you want to, um, talk about it?"  That was what he was supposed to say.  He was pretty sure.

 He didn't know. "Not really. But maybe. I don't know."

 Odd.  He kissed his hair.

 "He was really different."

 Evidently they were talking now.  "Different?"

 "Like..." He trailed off, trying to think of how to explain it. "I understand flirting. Trying to get someone to sleep with you. I know how it works. But it's like his whole personality changed. His voice, and the way he spoke to me. Was different."

 Had John been anyone else, Sherlock would have pointed out that he'd told him this from the start.  But it _was_ John, so Sherlock simply nodded and waited for more of the talking.

 "And he liked it. He liked that I was terrified."

 "Rapist," Sherlock couldn't help but grumble.

 "You know he..." John took a moment to consider if he really wanted to talk about this, but he certainly wouldn't be doing it with anyone else. "He pinned me. Even though I'd given in."

 The grumble turned into a low growl.

 "Didn't...didn't prep me either. Told me I had five minutes. Before he started."

 That certainly didn't stop the growling.  He held John tighter, more possessively.

 "Just wanted me to suck him off, at first. Changed his mind." He was quiet for a moment. "I'd have rather done that. Still bad but, it would have been better."

 Sherlock made a face.  "Clearly you've never sucked someone off."

 "Richard was quickly aware of that."

"Were you making faces at the vomit-like taste, then?"

 "I was just trying to get it over with."

 "It's disgusting," Sherlock informed him.  "But anyway, continue.  It started out that way and he changed his mind for-- in your opinion which is flawed because you've never experienced the taste of semen-- the worse."

"I just kept thinking of that game we played," he said, hands not clutching to Sherlock quite as tightly, though the grip was still strong. "How you accused him of rape."

 "Well, yes," Sherlock said quietly.

 "I didn't let that stop me. I slept with him again after that. That's the day he took the picture."

 "I was just some random person to you," he said, petting John's hair again.  "For all you knew I was a jealous ex."

 "Stupid."

 He kissed his temple.

 "I'll have to see him again. Every week."

 "I could murder him if you like," Sherlock offered cheerfully.

 "Then you'd be gone, too."

 He thought about this.  "Not if I hide the body well enough."

 "This conversation should concern me."

 "You should know your boyfriend well enough to not be surprised by it," he corrected.

 John curled closer and went quiet.

 He poked him with his nose.

 "Thank you."

 He made a pleased noise and poked him with his nose again.

 John closed his eyes, hands slowly relaxing until he was holding, instead of clenching.

 There appeared to be some property to the nose-poking that was soothing to John.  Sherlock did it again.

John shifted, leaning up and slowly pressed a chaste but still tender kiss to Sherlock's lips. "Glad I met you."

 Sherlock closed his eyes, hummed, smiled.  "No one has ever said that before.  I am glad as well."

"People are idiots."

"Very, very true," Sherlock said, tightening his arms around John.

John kissed him again, quickly, and laid back down against Sherlock's chest.

 Sherlock coughed just a little.  "John?"

 "Hm?"

 "You're, um, crushing me.  Could you... take about half your weight and put it next to me instead?"  He wheezed a bit.

 He shifted, tilting his head to look at Sherlock. "Sorry."

 Oh, this way he could put their foreheads together.  "'S’fine," he said with a small sigh, pressing closer.

 "Once you do...all that. Do you think that will keep him from talking to me?"

 "Yes," he said with absolute certainty.  "You will have to corner him in a room to get him to speak to you.  Likely he will drop the class you have together."

 John nodded. "Good."

 They lay in silence for a while.  "You know," Sherlock said finally, "We don't have to... for a while.  Or ever again.  Whatever you want.  I'll still want to.  Be with you."  Sherlock vaguely wondered if he'd ever in his life been as incoherent as he had been in the last few days, because of John.

 "Thank you," he said sincerely, pressing his forehead against Sherlock's more firmly. "I'm sure I'll want to. Just, not for a bit. We might have to go slow."

 "Just as long as you know that I don't care."  He nodded firmly.

 "This is a lot of baggage, for so early in a relationship," John said softly. "You staying means a lot."

 "I've never liked someone before," Sherlock said.  "It's going to take a lot to rid yourself of me, at this point."

 That got the smallest smile out of him, for the first time in hours. "Glad."

 Sherlock saw the smile and was proud.

 John closed his eyes again. He'd never imagined something so horrible could happen to him. But thank God he had Sherlock. He didn't know what he'd have done without him there.

 "Sleep?" Sherlock asked hopefully.

 "You'll stay?"

 "It's my room," he pointed out.  "I mean.  Yes."

 "Just making sure."

 "Don't be alarmed if you wake up and I'm staring at you.  Because if I do, it's not creepy.  For... some legitimate reason..."

 "Alright," he agreed easily.

 Sherlock wrapped John up in his arms and intertwined their legs.  "Okay, good."  He poked him with his nose again, wondering if it always worked.  "Sleep."

 "Will try," he said, still not feeling right. Not good. But, with Sherlock, safe. He did feel safe.

 "You're safe," Sherlock agreed.  "And you're good," he corrected.

 John opened his eyes, watching him. He'd not said that out loud, had he?

 Oh fuck, he hadn't done that out loud yet.  He watched him back, worried that _this_ would be the thing that made John flee.

 "I didn't say that out loud, did I?" he asked slowly.

 "Um, no, you didn't."

 "Can you read everyone's mind?"

 He blinked.  "I can't read minds."

 John just looked at him.

 "What?" he asked defensively.

"You read mine," he said simply.

 He licked his lips.  "You know when you read something that's in Spanish?  You don't know Spanish, certainly couldn't form a sentence in Spanish.  But you get the gist of it?  ...Well, technically it's because so many Spanish words are similar to English, of course, but that doesn't follow the metaphor."

 "Which is?"

 "What?"

 "The metaphor. So you can read me, so you know what I'm thinking?"

 "The metaphor is the Spanish.  I don't... speak 'human emotion.'  Empathy.  And I certainly can't read minds.  But I can get the gist from faces.  That's all."

 "I think you're doing alright. With the empathy."

 Sherlock leaned over to kiss him.

 John kissed back, pulling away slowly. "You think I'm good?"

 "I think, frankly," Sherlock said softly, "that you are the /most/ good."

 "You're just flattering me," John denied.

 Sherlock crunched up his eyes.  "I'm lost.  What do we mean by good?"

 "I'd been thinking that I'm not...well, good. Okay. Not completely."

 "Oh, I thought you meant..." he shook his head.  "Well that's something only you can report, isn't it?"

"Probably. I think it will be easier once he's gone."

 "Soon enough," Sherlock promised.

 John closed his eyes again, letting out a slow breath. This time, it was a lot calmer.

 Sherlock heard the difference and relaxed a little, too.

 "Think I might be able to sleep."

 "I insist."

 John moved in closer, body finally relaxing as he slowly began to drift.

 Sherlock watched as, finally, John fell asleep in his arms.  John was different.  He was better.  He gave people (Sherlock) a chance.  Nothing as insignificant as Richard's cock, which would soon be separated from Richard's body, was going to take away that chance.  Knowing John was asleep, Sherlock kissed his hair very, very lightly.  He would protect this man as long as he was allowed to.  He would go as slow as this man needed, or wanted.  He would always, always try to make him happy, until he finally did something that caused John to leave him.  Then, he would let John go without a fight- he would never force him to stay, never manipulate him.  He scooted closer to John's warmth.  It was fast, and he knew it, but he had never been one for making decisions slowly.  He'd already given John everything, all of his heart, which evidently existed, and a greater portion of his thoughts than he was comfortable admitting.  And so, as John lay in his arms, hopefully dreaming of something more pleasant than Richard's hairy, rapist rear end, Sherlock held him close, liking or loving him, and for some completely legitimate reason, watched him sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read, commented, favorited, etc. We had a lot of fun with this story and we're glad you guys liked it.


End file.
